FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY  HIM  TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Section 


POEMS. 


POEM 


WILLIAM    WALSH  AM     HOW 

(BISHOP    SUFFRAGAN    OK    BEDFORD,    FOR    EAST    LONDON). 


*H8F2< 


&eto  gorfe: 

E.    &    J.    B.    YOUNG    &    CO. 
COOPER    UNION. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

RETROSPECT    I 

LLANFIHANGEL 4 

THE  WINTER  BIRTHDAY 7 

SUNSET  AT   DURHAM 12 

NIGHT  AT   DURHAM  .  .  .  .  .  .  .14 

ASSOCIATION 15 

THE  ALPS l6 

THE  THUNDER  CLOUD 19 

FUNERAL   OF   A   CHILD    IN    SPRING  .....  21 

STARS   AND   GRAVES 24 

A  DREAM 26 

HYMN    OF   PRAISE 30 

SPRING   RIDE 32 

CHRISTMAS   HOLLY 36 

HABBERLY  VALLEY 40 

THE   FLOATING   OF  THE    BRITANNIA   TUBE       ...  43 

THE   HOME   VIEW 48 

SHELSLEV    BEAUCHAMP 52 

CADER   IDRIS 57 

THE    FIRST    SPRING    DAY 59 


vi  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
ON   THE   REOPENING   OF    OWSTON    CHURCH,    LEICESTER- 
SHIRE              65 

THE   LAST   COMMUNION 67 

THE  THREE   PUNDITS         . 69 

GOLDEN-SAXIFRAGE 7 1 

THE  CHILDREN'S    GARDEN 73 

A  SUNBEAM 75 

HOMEWARD 76 

MOUNTAIN-PANSIES 78 

CONVERSE 80 

ON   THE    DEATH    OF    BISHOP    LONSDALE    OF    LICHFIELD  82 

THE   LAST    BATHE 84 

A    PUZZLING    QUESTION 89 

FAIRYLAND    LOST   AND    REGAINED 92 

ON    THE   DEATH    OF    BISHOP   GRAY    OF   CAPETOWN  .            .  95 

TWO   BURIALS 96 

WRITTEN    IN    A    LADY'S    ALBUM 98 

THE    BABIES'    WOOD   TURKEY-COCK              ....  99 

BARMOUTH IO3 

OLD   AND    NEW 106 

THRIFT   THE   PLANT I08 

LONDON    PRIDE I IO 

THE   BOY   HERO 112 

A  TALE   OF  THE   LONDON    MISSION    OF    1874    .           .           .  II9 

TO   THE    PRIMATE    DESIGNATE 127 

PENCIL  OR   PEN 129 

POETRY   AND   THE    POOR 1 32 

THE   BLIND  AND  THE    DEAF 1 34 


CONTENTS. 


MY   CLERGY        .... 

CHARITY 

"PASCE   VERBO,    PASCE   VITA " 

GENTLEMAN   JOHN     . 

FROM    NATURE  TO   MAN     . 

"UNIVERSITY   SETTLEMENTS"    IN    EAST   LONDON 

THE    EAST   LONDON   CHILDREN'S    HOSPITAL      . 

A  VISION   OF   BARMOUTH 

SERMON   NOTES   IN   VERSE 

ON   THE  ALPS    .... 

"JUDGE   NOT"  .... 

ON   LEADER'S   PICTURE,    "  PARTING- 

ENGLAND'S   PURE   HOMES 

A   DAY  AT  THUSIS     . 

A  STARLIT    NIGHT   BY   THE   SEASHORE 


DAY 


135 

I44 

145 
147 
166 
167 
168 
I70 
172 
1S4 
185 
186 
189 
I90 
191 


IRetrospect 


I  was  walking  in  an  old  wood 

On  the  morning  of  New  Year's  day  : 

In  a  thoughtful  and  dreamy  mood 
Had  I  walked  along  my  way. 

The  tall  trees  were  grey  and  sear, 
And  a  red  leaf  hung  on  the  bramble ; 

And  there  did  I  meet  the  Old  Year, 
Like  myself,  on  a  lonely  ramble. 

He  was  wondrously  tall  and  thin, 

Just  like  a  bare  old  tree ; 
His  bones  looked  white  thro'  his  skin, — 

I  was  sure  that  it  must  be  he. 

His  head  was  so  snowy  white, 

And  his  eye  was  so  sad  with  tears, 

That  I  thought  that  I  must  be  right, 
That  sad  look  must  be  the  Old  Year's. 

A 


RETROSPECT. 

'Old  Year,'  I  said,  '  if  it  be 

'  That  my  eyes  are  not  something  dim,' — 
(And  an  awe  crept  over  me 

As  trembling  I  spake  to  him, — ) 

'  Old  Year,  thou  art  dead  and  gone, 

1  Buried  at  midnight  drear ; 
1  Why  comest  thou,  pale  and  wan, 

'  To  walk  like  a  spectre  here  ? ' 

1  Good  Friend,'  the  Old  Year  said, — 
(And  his  voice  was  like  the  breeze 

Mournfully  overhead 

Passing  among  the  trees, — ) 

1  Good  Friend,  men  think  that  we  die, 
1  But  their  thoughts  are  blind  and  vain ; 

1  There's  a  day  drawing  ever  nigh, 
'When  they  shall  meet  us  again. 

1  Face  to  face  we  shall  meet, — 
'  Ah  me  !  for  the  folly  of  men ; 

'Our  birth  they  merrily  greet, — 
'  How  will  they  greet  us  then  ?  ' 


'  Oh  !  I  wronged  thee,'  I  cried,  '  Old  Year, 

'  And  thy  brothers  that  long  have  past ; 
'  Had  I  known  them  better  here, 


I  could  meet  them  better  at  last.' 


RETROSPECT. 


1  When  thou  walkest  in  this  old  wood, 
1  Though  mayest  meet  them  all,'  said  he  ; 

1  Now  I'll  teach  thee  to  thine  own  good, 
'  If  thou  wilt  be  taught  of  me.' 

So  he  taught  me  a  lesson  grave, 

And  thither  I  oft  return  : 
But  I  tell  not  the  lesson  he  gave, — 

Thou  canst  go  for  thyself  and  learn. 

(1S44.) 


LLANFIHANGEL. 


SllanfibanaeL 

(A   VILLAGE   NEAR   TAL-Y-LLYN.) 


The  May-flies  hovered  in  the  heat, 

And  stood  upon  the  lake, 
And  the  quiet  trout  seemed  scarce  to  dare 

The  lazy  calm  to  break. 

And  up  the  mountain-side  I  went, 

And  o'er  the  mountain-back, 
And  saw  no  trace  of  human-kind 

Upon  my  silent  track. 

Beyond  the  mountain-ranges  far 

I  marked  the  level  sea, 
And  a  breeze  that  way  upon  my  brow 

Came  blowing  pleasantly. 

And  all  the  outlines,  bound  with  heav'n, 

Were  quivering  in  the  sun, — 
And  from  my  heart  self-bidden  streams 

Of  thankfulness  would  run. 


LLANFIHANGEL. 


It  was  the  holy  day  of  rest, 
And,  when  the  breezes  fell, 

There  seemed  to  dream  within  my  ear 
The  tolling:  of  a  bell : 


*o 


So  faintly,  that  I  listened  oft 

To  tell  if  it  were  true  ; 
Yet,  when  I  listened,  evermore 

The  breezes  voiceless  blew. 

And  o'er  the  moss  and  springy  turf, 

As  holden  by  a  spell, 
I  followed  with  an  eager  foot 

The  phantom  of  the  bell, 

Until  it  smote  me  loud  and  clear, 
And,  where  the  shapeless  hill 

Fell  off  abrupt  with  rocky  face, 
I  stood  in  wonder  still. 

For  deep  below  in  hollow  glen 

A  little  village  lay  } — 
I  never  saw  a  fairer  sight 

Than  I  saw  upon  that  day ; — 

A  stream  all  golden  in  the  sun 
'Mid  ancient  elm-trees  crept, 

And  the  light  was  on  their  rounded  tops, 
And  deep  their  shadows  slept 


LLANFIHANGEL. 


And  golden-grey  the  old  church-tower 
Its  summons  sweetly  pealed  ; 

And  long  the  train  that  gathered  in 
From  hill-side  and  from  field. 


Oh,  happy  if  ye  knew  the  home 
In  which  ye  live  and  die  ! 

Ye  only  curse  its  barrenness, 
And  pass  its  beauty  by. 

(1844.) 


THE   WINTER  BIRTHDAY. 


Zbc  Winter  Eirtbfcas* 


Rimy  webs  are  on  the  thistles, 
Silver-clad  comes  forth  the  morn, 

Near  and  shrill  the  blackbird  whistles 
On  the  scarlet-berried  thorn. 

Then  with  silent  blinding  fall 
In  the  eddies  of  the  breeze 

Weave  the  clouds  their  mighty  pall 
For  the  old  year's  obsequies. 

Then  the  mould'ring  fog  comes  round 
With  the  South-wind's  sickly  breath, 

Drops  the  wood  with  dismal  sound, 
Dropping  to  the  sod  beneath. 

Every  place  is  chill  and  raw, 
Dreary  winds  moan  as  they  go ; 

Rivers,  swollen  with  the  thaw, 
Roll  their  sands,  and  overflow. 


THE  WINTER  BIRTHDAY. 


Yet  it  seemeth  but  a  day 

Since  the  summer  flowers  were  here, 
Since  they  stacked  the  balmy  hay, 

Since  they  reaped  the  golden  ear. 

It  hath  gone — the  glorious  summer ; 

So  the  years  go,  speeding  past, 
Onward,  onward, — each  new  comer 

Swifter  speeding  than  the  last. 

Can  thy  life  no  semblance  borrow 
From  the  passing  of  the  years  ; 

Peace  to-day,  and  strife  to-morrow, — 
Day  of  hope,  and  night  of  tears  ? 

On  the  ocean  of  existence 

Waves  of  change  for  ever  roll ; — 

Waves  that,  echoing  thro'  all  distance, 
Speak  in  thunder  to  the  soul. 

For  the  seasons,  as  they  go, 

Are  the  shades  of  human  things, 

Changing  with  a  ceaseless  flow, 
Constant  in  their  varyings. 

Said  I,  ■  change '  ?     Yea,  such  as  storm 

Sweeping  over  ocean's  face 
Maketh  in  earth's  mighty  form 

Travelling  onward  into  space. 


THE   WINTER  BIRTHDAY. 


What  is  that  to  those  who  live  ? 

Life  is  something  higher  far. 
1  Change  ' !  the  name  I'd  sooner  give 

To  the  tremblings  of  a  star ! 

Said  I  '  change '  ?     Nay,  let  the  blast 

Stir  the  surface  as  it  may, 
Still  the  soul,  like  planet  vast, 

Holdeth  steadfast  on  its  way. 

That  is  Life  which  never  ends  ; — 
Brother,  such  have  thou  for  thine  ; — 

Road  that  on  and  onward  wends, 
Vast  eternal  discipline. 

Scorn  upon  the  idle  mind 

Dwelling  in  the  things  without, 

Passive  to  the  veering  wind 
That  tosses  empty  ships  about. 

Seize  the  helm  with  dauntless  will, 
Cleave  the  waves  that  round  thee  roar 

Storm  or  sunshine,  onward  still 
Cleave  them  straightly  evermore. 

Touch  thou  with  a  rod  of  power 
That  which  passeth  day  by  day ; 

Bid  the  fortune  of  the  hour 
Thy  calm  even  will  obey. 


io  THE  WINTER  BIRTHDAY. 

All  events  that  men  call  chance, 
All  things  thou  dost  see  and  feel, 

All  the  might  of  circumstance, — 
Wrest  them  strongly  to  thy  weal. 

Tho'  the  outward  things  around  thee 

Be  but  partly  understood, 
Let  their  presence  not  confound  thee, — 

Bend  them  to  thy  endless  good. 

So  the  changes,  swiftly  hasting, 
So  the  chief  events  of  life, 

Transient  joys,  and  sorrows  lasting, 
Peaceful  calm,  and  passion's  strife, — 

All  shall  come  as  comes  the  snow, 
All  shall  like  the  sun-ray  die, 

For  thy  soul  doth  truly  know 
These  have  no  eternity. 

But  they  have  a  voice  in  going, 
Like  the  day  that  passeth  o'er, 

And  their  tide  in  its  back-flowing 
Leaves  its  gifts  of  heavenly  lore. 

Brother  !  oh  !  be  this  our  Life, 
True  and  earnest,  deep  and  strong, 

Far  above  the  world's  vain  strife 
Cleaving  steadfastly  along. 


THE  WINTER  BIRTHDAY. 


Be  it  such  that,  when  earth's  day 
With  its  hasty  work  is  done, 

All  of  ill  shall  fall  away, 

And  the  life  shall  still  live  on ! 

(1845.) 


12  SUNSET  AT  DURHAM. 


Sunset  at  Burfoam, 

(from  the  prebends'  bridge.) 


To  all  the  town  the  sun  is  set  ; 

Yet  glorious  on  the  hill 
The  mighty  House  of  God  is  wrapt 

In  golden  sunlight  still. 

The  giant  shadow  hath  crept  on 
From  yonder  uplands  cast, 

And  over  tree  and  over  bank 
Its  silent  foot  hath  past. 

But  now  it  seemeth  for  a  while 
To  hold  its  stealthy  pace 

In  conscious  awe,  before  it  touch 
The  holy  building's  base. 

Under  its  dusky  shroud  I  see 
The  shadowy  river  glide, 

And  grey  mists  gather  fast  between 
Dim  banks  on  either  side. 


SUNSET  AT  DURHAM.  13 

The  winter  trees  are  cold  and  black, 

The  winter  wind  moans  by, 
And  sunless  all  the  distant  fields 

Slope  upward  drearily. 

But  high  o'er  all  one  building  burns 

So  wonderfully  bright 
One  scarce  can  deem  it  shineth  not 

With  more  than  earthly  light ! 

For  golden  gleam  the  ancient  towers 

Against  the  cloud  behind, 
And  all  the  tender  tracery 

With  golden  fire  is  twined. 

An  awful  pile  of  living  light 

Above  a  darkened  world  ! 
A  standard,  writ  with  gleaming  words 

Of  love,  from  heaven  unfurled  ! 

A  vision  bright, — an  Angel  form 

Poised  o'er  the  dim  low  ground, 
In  its  own  radiance  enshrined 

'Mid  dusky  shades  around. 

Oh  !  shall  the  scene  to  no  glad  thought 

Of  thankful  hope  give  birth, 
Of  triumph,  and  of  better  things 

Than  are  the  things  of  earth  ? 

(1845-) 


i4  NIGHT  AT  DURHAM. 


WiGbt  at  Hmrbam* 

(for  a  song.) 


The  groups  of  holy  stars  are  sailing  on, 
To  the  music  of  the  quiet-dropping  river, 
That  down  between  its  deep  banks  looketh  wan 
As  the  shadows  of  the  gaunt  trees  o'er  it  shiver 

Like  silence  that  is  visible,  down  low 
Lie  the  shadows  on  the  river  and  the  land  ; 
And  things  around  unreal  seem  to  grow, 
As  with  them,  alike  all  motionless,  I  stand. 

Sail  on,  ye  holy  stars,  toward  the  West, 
Thou  queenly  Night,  sit  stately  on  thy  throne, 
And  ever  may  the  warrings  of  my  breast 
The  down-raining  of  your  silent  spirit  own. 

(1846. 


ASSOCIATION.  15 


association, 

(for  a  song.) 


The  drone  of  the  evening  beetle 

Rapidly  passes  by  j 
And  out  from  the  golden  sunset 

A  breeze  comes  quietly. 

Over  the  many-tongued  river 
The  latest  thrush  sings  loud ; 

And  the  wings  of  the  gnats  are  shrilling 
In  the  dance  of  their  tiny  cloud. 

In  a  dreamy  odour  floats 

The  breath  of  the  sleeping  flow'rs  j 
And  a  spirit  of  awe  is  borne 

On  the  wings  of  the  silent  hours. 

'Tis  the  same  to  the  ear  and  sense 

As  it  was  on  a  bygone  day, 
And  I  dare  not  look  from  the  turf 

To  find  myself  far  away  ! 

(1846.) 


1 6  THE  ALPS. 


Ubc  Hips* 


It  is  a  great  and  glorious  thing  to  be 
High  up  among  the  Alpine  points  of  snow, 
When  all  is  still  and  clear, — profoundly  still, 
Intensely  clear ;  the  outlines  vast  and  far 
Vividly  cut  in  heav'n's  eternal  blue, 
And  fringed  with  orange  light ;  majestic  domes, 
Huge  ice-rocks,  shining  alway  silently. 
Far  far  down  splendid  vales  are  floating  still 
The  golden-surfaced  clouds,  the  burnished  roof, 
That  to  the  little  world  below  makes  heaven 
One  dimness ;  even  as  our  sins  and  follies 
Gather  above  our  heads,  and  hide  away 
The  utter  radiance  of  God's  changeless  love. 
Lo  !  point  o'er  point,  and  range  surpassing  range, 
All  gloriously  illumined,  infinite 
In  wealth  of  form  ;  majestic  sweeps  of  shadow ; 
Broad  mountain  bosoms,  in  their  hollow  depths 
Nursing  the  huge  blue  streaming  glaciers, 
That  with  their  thunderous  ice-wave,  thro'  the  silence, 
Crash  to  the  footfalls  of  slow-marching  time. 


THE  ALPS.  17 


Oh  !  man's  desire  is  of  the  infinite  : 
And  here  is  greatness  which  flings  back  the  bounds 
Ev'n  to  the  farthest  that  may  be  on  earth. 
Thyself  alone, — yet  in  an  awful  presence  ! 
How  severed  from  thy  kind !     How  near  to  God 
Say'st  thou  the  might  of  these  stupendous  things 
Makes  thee  feel  little  ?     Scorn  upon  thy  feeling  ! 
It  is  the  very  pinnacle  of  greatness 
To  sit  upon  thy  mountain-throne,  and  grasp 
The  might  and  grandeur  of  these  grandest  forms, 
And  make  them  all  thine  own  : — to  feel  them  made 
For  such  as  thee  !     Oh  !  there  is  more  of  truth 
In  the  great  feelings  of  an  hour  like  this 
Than  men  will  look  for.     Doth  it  tell  thee  nothing 
Of  thine  own  soul  ?     Nay — hath  it  not  a  voice 
That  heraldeth  the  greatness  of  that  thing 
Which  can  conceive  an  influence  so  great  ? 
Speaketh  it  not  of  immortality, 
When  the  whole  soul  o'erflows,  and  all  around 
Is  vaster  than  thy  fancy's  vastest  thought, 
And  thou  dost  know  for  once  that  there  is  that 
Within  thee  which  could  feel  and  grasp  far  more 
Than  the  cramped  senses  will  let  pass  ? 

O  earth, 
Thou  glorious  thing,  ineffable  in  beauty, 
Blinding  the  heart  with  tears  of  painful  joy, 
Tell  me,  O  earth,  O  heavenward  mountain-slopes, 
O  rosy  pinnacles  of  glistening  shrines, 


THE  ALPS. 


O  airy  domes  that  cut  the  arched  blue, 
O  myriad- faced  ice-rocks,  O  great  vales, 
Braided  afar  with  silver  river-lines, — 
Tell  me,  what  is  your  strange  sublimity, 
Your  regal  beauty,  your  eternal  splendour  ? 
An  image,  a  bare  chart,  we  know  not  what, 
Passeth  upon  the  brain.     Ay,  and  the  rest 
Is  in  the  soul.     Oh  !  those  are  mocking  proofs 
That  writers  bring,  and  pall  the  soul's  content, 
Persuading  it  of  its  undying  springs 
With  dry  cold  subtilty  of  reasoning, 
To  him  who  knows  the  glory  that  is  born 
Among  the  ancient  rocks  of  sunny  snow, 
Silent  and  soulless,  shining  evermore  ! 

O  God,  and  shall  my  stricken  heart  thrill  low 
With  rapture,  like  great  music,  and  not  pour 
One  strain  to  Thee  ?     And  yet  oh  !  give  me  words 
To  pay  a  tithe  of  what  is  in  my  heart ! 

(1846.) 


THE  THUNDER  CLOUD. 


ZTbe  TTbun&er  Cloufc, 


Vivid  against  the  mighty  thunderstorm 
Stand  up  the  sunny  trees  into  the  sky, 
Bright  in  the  darkness,  all  distinct  in  form, 

And,  as  the  breeze  goes  by 
That  freshens  onward,  glittering  cheerfully. 

And  see  how  gloriously  the  silver  spire 
Is  piercing  up  just  where  the  sullen  cloud 
Breaks  in  uneven  rent  of  ruddy  fire  ; 

And  all  the  hill  is  browed 
With  light,  cut  out  into  the  awful  shroud. 

How  often  with  a  cold  and  dreary  swell 
The  fields  on  that  same  hill  slope  far  away  ! 
And  when  the  sky  is  clear,  you  scarce  could  tell 

The  church,  so  bright  to-day, 
Were  there,  still  pointing  to  the  heav'n  as  aye. 


THE  THUNDER  CLOUD. 


And  who  shall  say  the  sorrow-clouds  we  meet 
With  no  new  lustre  clothe  the  forms  between ; 
And  that  the  hope  and  joy  are  not  more  sweet 

Because  that  there  hath  been 
A  cloud  and  rain-drops  on  the  shining  scene  ? 

Oh  !  if  the  Church's  hand  to  weary  eye 
Point  up  to  heav'n  more  plainly  than  before, 
If  on  dim  earth  a  heavenly  radiance  lie, — 

Then  let  us  weep  no  more, 
But  the  dark  cloud,  for  all  it  shows,  adore  ! 

(1847.) 


FUNERAL  OF  A  CHILD  IN  SPRING.         21 


ffuneral  of  a  Cbtlb  in  Spring. 


Every  rounded  hawthorn  spray 
Shines  with  sunny  tufts  of  May; — 
And  the  child  was  bright  as  they. 

Now  there  is  a  silent  gloom, 
While  about  the  open  tomb 
All  the  turf  is  burst  in  bloom. 

With  a  solemn  wondering  air, 
Six  little  children  slowly  bear 
Their  strange  and  mournful  burden  there. 

And  they  think,  as  they  go  on, 

How  like  some  young  flow'r  she  shone, 

Scarce  believing  she  is  gone. 

Tis  so  strange  to  pass  away 
While  the  grass  they  tread  is  gay 
With  the  blue  Veronica. 


FUNERAL  OF  A  CHILD  IN  SPRING. 

And  they  wonder  if  the  dead 
Passeth  with  a  silent  tread 
Thro'  the  blueness  overhead  ; 

If  the  spirit,  sailing  near, 

Doth  their  sobs  of  mourning  hear, 

Pondereth  the  shining  tear  ; 

If  upon  her  sunny  wings 
She  may  visit  brighter  things 
Than  the  light  of  earthly  Springs. 

Oh  !  it  is  a  solemn  scene 

Thus  to  part  from  what  hath  been 

When  the  earth  is  virgin-green. 

Other  children  play  around, 
And  the  air  is  full  of  sound, 
And  the  earth  with  light  is  crowned. 

Yet  the  little  mourners  stand 
Round  the  grave,  a  weeping  band, 
And  share  their  sorrows,  hand  in  hand. 

Children  !  hearken  to  the  Spring, 
With  her  voice  in  everything, 
Balm  unto  your  sorrowing. 

Children  !  watch  the  verdure  shine, 
And  with  quiet  gladness  twine 
Wreaths  of  flowers  for  a  sign. 


FUNERAL  OF  A  CHILD  IN  SPRING.         23 

Plant  upon  the  rounded  clay 
Plants  that  shall  be  blooming  gay 
Every  year  upon  this  day. 

For  the  seed,  that  now  ye  sow 
In  the  chilly  earth  below, 
Shall  a  glorious  flower  blow  : — 

"  Sown  in  weakness,  raised  in  power," 
In  the  eternal  Springtide's  bower 
It  shall  bloom,  a  glorious  flower ! 

(i847-) 


24  STARS  AND  GRAVES. 


Stars  ant)  Graves, 


"  Solemn  before  us 
Veiled,  the  dark  Portal, 
Goal  of  all  mortal  : — 
Stars  silent  rest  o'er  us, 
Graves  under  us  silent." 

—Goethe.    Tr.  Carlyle. 

The  Poet  scanned  with  mighty  awe 

The  mystery  of  man  ; 
He  spake  the  strange  things  that  he  saw : 
And  thus  it  ran  : — 

1  The  silent  stars  are  overhead, 

1  The  silent  graves  below  : 
*  A  dream  between — how  quickly  fled  ! — 
1  Is  all  we  know/ 

He  pointed  up — he  pointed  down — 

The  witnesses  were  there. 
O'er  the  between  a  veil  was  thrown 
He  could  not  tear. 


STARS  AND  GRAVES.  25 

The  Preacher  saw  the  hand  he  raised, 

And  heard  the  words  he  spake ; 
And  in  his  soul  with  grief  amazed 
A  fire  outbrake. 

1  Poet,'  he  cried,  { the  things  we  see 

'  They  are  not  all  we  know  ; 
1  The  web  of  thy  philosophy 
1 1  rend  it  so  : ' — 

He  pointed  with  his  eager  hand 

Behind  and  then  before, — 
*  And  there,  and  there,  for  ever  stand 
1  Two  wonders  more. 

'  The  silent  stars  sing  out  with  mirth, 

1  The  graves  with  grass  are  green  : — 
1  Christ  cometh  twice  upon  the  earth  ; — 
'  We  live  between  ! ' 

(1847.) 


26  A  DREAM. 


H  Dream* 

(recorded  as  faithfully  as  possible.) 


I  dreamt  a  dream  last  night  so  fair 
That  it  hath  not  vanish'd  all  the  day, 
But  hangeth  yet  in  the  mid-noon  glare, 
Like  a  sunny  mist  o'er  a  landscape  bare, 
Making  it  beautiful  and  gay. 

I  dreamt  that  we  travelled  merrily, 
(We  three — my  brother  and  sister  and  I,) 
Merrily  on  in  a  foreign  land, 

Where  the  sun  was  warm,  and  the  breeze  was  cool, 
And  the  mountains  rose  up  on  either  hand, 
And  the  valley  between  was  beautiful. 
Gaily  we  travelled  on  in  the  sun, 
And  we  watched  the  glorious  mountains  rise, 
Backward  and  backward,  'till  that  far  one 
Whose  icy  point  shot  into  the  skies  : — 
And  one  said,  '  That  way  our  journey  lies.' 


A  DREAM.  27 


And  we  thought  how  wonderful  it  would  be 
When  up  on  that  shining  rock  to  see 
Over  the  West  the  sunset  glow, 
And  the  mountain  summits  all  ranged  below, 
And  the  road  we  had  travelled  merrily. 

But  suddenly  in  our  wondering  mood 
We  came  to  the  edge  of  a  little  wood  ; 
And  we  drove  straight  thro'  on  the  springy  moss, 
And  the  shade  was  silent  and  dark  and  green, 
And  the  boughs  so  thickly  were  twined  across 
That  little  the  blue  sky  seen  between. 
And  then  we  came  to  a  virgin  lake, 
Where  never  the  fall  of  a  weary  breeze 
The  image  of  margin-mosses  brake 
Round  the  mighty  roots  of  the  ancient  trees. 
And  as,  I  ween,  you  may  chance  to  see 
In  some  quaint  book  of  Mythology 
An  Ocean-god  in  his  car  of  shell 
Cleaving  the  waters  that  round  him  swell,' — 
So  with  one  bold  plunge  we  brake  the  spell, 
And  shattered  the  quiet  imagery. 
And  we  rode  thro'  the  waters  swift  and  strong, 
With  a  mighty  purpose  and  steadfast  gaze, 
Dashing  the  crystals  that  trembled  along 
To  the  very  marge  with  a  million  rays. 
And  a  joy  and  a  triumph  and  conscious  might 
Rested  serene,  as  a  crown  of  gold, 


28  A  DREAM. 


On  the  upward  brow  that  was  bent  so  bold 

On  the  distant  Alp  with  its  rosy  light, 

Over  the  green  trees  rosy-white. 

And  many  times  did  we  peer  below 

Where  the  waters  were  brighter  than  those  that  flow 

Under  the  walls  of  Zurich  town 

To  the  blue  lake  evermore  gushing  down. 

And  we  saw  the  mosses  golden  and  brown 

In  a  tiny  forest  deep  away 

Distinct  with  delicate  branch  and  spray. 

And  over  the  sunny  surface  wide 

There  swam  and  swung  with  a  pearly  light, 

Like  birds  on  the  sea  at  eventide, 

Great  flocks  of  water-lilies  white  ; 

Yet  not  like  others,  but  fairer  far, 

For  their  delicate  wings  all  seemed  to  be 

Gleaming  with  light  transparently, 

And  crowned  in  the  midst  with  a  golden  star. 

And  oh  !  it  was  childlike  joy  to  part 

The  shining  water  with  down-stretched  hand, 

And  to  see  the  broken  surface  start 

And  wide  in  glittering  curves  expand 

And  on,  and  on,  all  adown  the  lake 

We  clove  the  waters  and  left  our  wake, 

All  before  us  as  strangely  still 

As  the  future  that  hideth  its  good  and  ill, 

And  all  behind  us  trembling  on 

In  the  misty  sunlight  that  slanting  shone, 


A  DREAM.  29 


Like  a  memory  soft  of  things  that  are  gone. 
And  methought,  when  the  evening  light  was  o'er, 
And  the  folded  shadows  came  dimly  down, 
We  sat  and  talked  on  the  quiet  shore 
Of  the  glorious  Alp  with  its  snowy  crown. 
And  the  peace  of  the  present  was  pure  and  deep, 
And  the  hope  of  the  future  was  calmly  bright : 
And  oh  !  I  would  that  the  dream  of  sleep 
Had  its  counterpart  in  the  hours  of  light ! 
For  methinks  'twere  easy  to  twine  my  song 
With  a  moral  sweet  and  a  lesson  true, 
Of  blending  the  near  and  distant  view, 
And  charming  the  road,  as  we  travel  along, 
With  a  lofty  aim  and  a  purpose  strong. 

(1848.) 


3o  HYMN  OF  PRAISE. 


IfoEtnn  of  Jpratee, 

ON   THE   APPEARANCE   OF   THE   NORTHERN    LIGHTS. 


O  God,  Thy  glory  is  abroad  this  hour 
Flushing  the  pure  calm  face  of  saintly  Night ; 
Who  seemeth,  as  she  sitteth  on  her  throne, 
To  gather  all  her  powers  into  praise, 
And  in  exulting  joy  to  worship  Thee 
With  the  full  beauty  of  her  holiness. 
See  where  among  the  feathered  clouds  flows  on 
A  wondrous  sea  of  rosy  waves  ;  and  swords 
Of  brightness  strike  up  from  the  Northern  distance 
Ev'n  to  the  highest  heavens,  where  the  stars 
Seem  crowding  Westward  like  far  companies 
Of  Angels  going  up  to  some  high  feast, 
As  the  wind  moves  the  light  clouds  onwards  !     See 
How  all  the  spaces  of  the  moonless  sky 
Are  blue  against  the  fire-flood  !     And,  o'er  all, 
Broad  ceaseless  waves  of  streaming  radiance  flow 
In  a  swift  tide  across  the  trembling  heavens, 


HYMN  OF  PRAISE.  31 

As  tho'  some  storm-wind  coursed  them  from  the 

pole  ! 
Lo  !  hath  an  awful  daybreak  gloriously 
Burst  forth  among  the  stars  at  midnight  hour, 
Climbing  the  topmost  skies  with  giant-strides, 
Impatient  of  the  long  delay  that  melts 
The  darkness  into  daylight  ?     Or  hath  Eve 
Forgotten  her  sweet  office,  and  come  back 
From  gathering  in  the  lagging  hues  that  trail 
Behind  her  lord  the  sun,  to  see  for  once 
The  wonders  of  the  night  that  followeth  her  ? 
Oh  ever-changing  beauty  !     Now  it  ebbeth, 
Sucking,  as  doth  the  sea,  its  airy  billows 
Back  to  the  margin  of  the  sky,  and  now 
It  poureth  up  once  more,  with  strength  renewed 
Passing  its  former  bounds,  and  gushing  on 
In  creek  and  bay  ! 

O  mighty  mighty  Night  ! 
Yea,  rather,  mighty  God,  who  makest  night, 
For  Thy  great  glory  I  give  thanks  to  Thee  ! 
My  heart  is  full  of  praise  I  cannot  speak  : 
Oh  !  if  its  song  be  inarticulate, 
Yet  be  it,  God,  as  true  to  Thee  as  Night's, 
Who  in  her  stillness  praiseth  Thee  the  most, 
With  her  fair  earnest  face  turned  full  on  Thee, 
All  senses  lost  in  one  deep  speechless  worship  ! 

(1848.) 


32  SPRING  RIDE. 


Spring  IRifce* 

(LEATON    KNOLLS,    NEAR   SHREWSBURY.) 


0  sister,  'twas  so  sweet  a  time, 
Our  ride  of  yesterday, 

1  needs  must  turn  it  into  rhyme, 

Lest  all  should  fade  away. 

And  it  may  be  a  pleasant  thing, 
When  colder-hearted  grown, 

To  catch  a  faint  re-echoing 
Of  feelings  that  are  flown. 

Twas  after  show'rs  of  gentle  rain 

Had  past  across  the  sky, 
And  cleared  the  vapours  from  the  plain, 

And  brought  the  distance  nigh ; 

On  one  of  those  soft  days  ere  yet 
The  woodbine  leaves  unfold, 

While  garden-plots  are  thickly  set 
With  aconites  of  gold  ; 


SPRING  RIDE.  33 


We  rode  out  in  a  fitting  mood 

A  joyous  heart  to  win, 
And  all  the  outward  springing  wooed 

The  joyousness  within. 

We  rode  between  the  meadow-lands, 
And  many  a  gleaming  sheet 

Of  red  earth  shot  with  greenest  bands 
Of  early-growing  wheat : 

We  heard  the  thrush's  wild  rich  song 
Full  of  the  bursting  Spring, 

We  saw  the  tree-buds  all  along 
In  soft  light  glimmering  : 

Until  we  reached  that  fairest  spot 
Where,  opening  out  between, 

On  either  side  a  lonely  knot 
Of  fir-trees  dark  and  green 

Stood  out  into  the  depth  of  sky 

Like  night  against  its  blue, 
A  mighty  frame  of  ebony 

For  all  the  glorious  view. 

And  thro'  the  grassy  hollow  there 
The  woodlands  golden-brown 

With  curving  slopes  dipt  onward  where 
The  river  runneth  down. 


34  SPRING  RIDE. 


And  all  the  wide  plain  darkly  clear 
Was  thronged  with  richest  hues, 

One  tint  could  not  be  added  there, 
One  tint  we  could  not  lose. 

The  clouds  were  clustered  overhead, 

And  but  a  single  gleam 
Fringed  the  tree-tops  with  softest  red 

Above  the  river's  stream. 

But  oh  !  I  would  that  I  could  paint 

The  glories  far  away, 
Where  with  excess  of  brightness  faint 

The  mountain-ranges  lay ; 

The  foremost  dark  with  shades  distinct, 
The  hindmost  drowned  in  light, 

Range  after  range  in  grandeur  linked 
Alternate  dark  and  bright ! 

It  seemed  as  tho'  the  mountain-piles 
That  crowned  the  farthest  West, 

Scarce  hid  those  fabled  happy  isles 
With  cloudless  sunshine  blest. 

Oh  would  I  might  to  other's  eye 
That  close-writ  page  unroll, 

Whose  everlasting  memory 
I  drink  into  my  soul ; 


SPRING  RIDE.  35 


Whose  influence  thro'  smiles  and  tears 

Shall  last  as  it  began ; 
A  happiness  for  after  years, 

A  new  part  of  the  man  ! 

(1848.) 


36  CHRISTMAS  HOLLY. 


Cbristmas  ibolls* 


Oh  !  warm,  ye  gleams  of  early  years, 
Around  my  heart  ye  throng, 

Till  melting  streams  of  frozen  tears 
Flow  down,  with  ancient  song. 

Old  words  all  linked  with  childish  glee,- 
Old  thoughts  remembered  now, — 

The  ring  of  bells, — the  frosted  tree, — 
The  sparkling  holly-bough, — 

The  hymn  we  said  with  happy  pride 
To  those  that  are  no  more, — 

The  tune  we  heard  in  church,  and  tried 
To  sing,  when  church  was  o'er, — 

All  memories  of  joyous  things, 

That  were  unto  the  boy, 
The  mirth  of  this  glad  season  brings 

To  stir  the  man  with  joy. 


CHRISTMAS  HOLLY.  37 

The  holly  from  its  darkling  leaves 

Old  feelings  raineth  down, 
And  old  old  dreams  the  chiming  weaves, 

That  cometh  from  the  town. 

But  chief  of  all  a  charm  there  lies 

To  fill  the  pondering  soul 
In  that  sweet  chant  that  from  the  skies 

O'er  Bethlehem's  shepherds  stole. 

What  tho'  the  passing  of  the  hours 

Has  softened  all  the  view, 
And  on  the  light  of  spring-time  bowers 

Are  tints  of  mellower  hue, — 

'Tis  sweet  to  blend  with  calm  content 

Light-hearted  joys  long  flown, 
Soft  shadows  of  a  merriment 

That  may  not  now  be  known. 

I  would  not  now  those  joys  replace, 

That  light  heart  of  the  past, 
To  lose  the  melancholy  grace 

That  years  upon  them  cast. 

One  single  note  I  would  not  drown, 

Though  sad  the  cadence  be, 
Of  that  sweet  song  that  trembleth  down 

From  soaring  memory. 


38  CHRISTMAS  HOLLY. 

Oh  !  happy  they  who  harmonize 
The  man's  deep  earnest  part 

With  strains  of  simple  songs  that  rise 
From  childhood's  joyous  heart. 

And  oh  !  that  ever,  as  I  go 

My  destined  way  on  earth, 
I  could  but  bid  around  me  flow 

Such  tones  of  heavenly  birth  ! 

Yet  long  long  seasons  still  there  are 
When  these  sweet  songs  are  dumb, 

When  holy  things  seem  faint  and  far, 
And  life  grows  wearisome ; — 

When  manhood's  fire,  and  boyhood's  glee, 

Alike  lie  cold  and  dead ; — 
When  faith  lacks  strength  to  rise  and  see 

The  great  things  overhead  ; — 

When  fervour  pines,  and  zeal  and  love 

And  interest  decay ; — 
When  duties  flag,  and  slowly  move 

The  footsteps  of  the  day. 

Oh !  then  I  sometimes  wish  that  I 
Were  such  as  I  have  known, 

Whose  gladsome  moments  lightly  fly, 
As  they  have  ever  flown. — 


CHRISTMAS  HOLLY.  39 


Yet  better  the  calm  work  of  man 
Than  gladness  of  the  boy ; — 

So  let  me  work  the  while  I  can, — 
And  leave  to  God  the  joy. 


(1848.) 


4o  HABBERLY  VALLEY. 


1foabberl£  Dalles* 

(NEAR    KIDDERMINSTER.) 


Out   from   the  gloomy   rows  of  homes — (what 
homes 
For  man  with  his  home-loving  heart !) — far  out 
Beyond  the  discontented  murmuring 
Of  streets  that  throb  with  the  great  looms,  where  I 
Day  after  day  sad-hearted  move  along, — 
Far  out  this  holy  evening  have  I  past. 

It  is  an  evening  of  such  temperament 
As  makes  the  heart  gush  out  with  streams  of  beauty, 
Mingling  its  own  with  that  which  is  without, 
Making  a  tenfold  loveliness.     I  choose 
The  head  of  a  small  valley  for  my  throne, 
And  all  the  spirits  of  beauty  do  my  bidding. 
The  soft  turf  where  I  sit  is  intertwined 
With  mosses  delicate,  and  eyebrights  pure 
Dot  all  its  smoothness,  with  rock-roses  frail 
And  crimson-lipped  cup-moss ;  and  on  the  stone, 


UABBERLY  VALLEY.  41 

That  stands  out  rough  and  grey  on  either  side, 
Grow  maiden-hair  and  tufts  of  purple  heath. 
And  far  away  above  the  swelling  copse 
And  ferny  hollow  with  its  close-cropt  grass, 
Where  the  sheep  browse  and  tinkle  their  small  bells, 
And  far  beyond  the  green  and  level  fields, 
Whose  trees  crowd  up  upon  the  slanting  sight 
Into  one  constant  woodland,  there  is  reared 
Beautiful  Malvern,  purple-robed  and  faint, 
With  sunny  streaks  upon  his  Western  summit. 

Oh  !  know'st  thou  not  when  evening  fair  as  this 
Will  call  back  to  thy  mind  far  other  scenes 
Of  bygone  years  when  thou  hast  felt  the  same, 
And  memory  pours  sweetness  on  the  thought 
And  absence  sorrow,  till  thou  needst  must  weep  ? 
So  I  will  dream  awhile.     I'll  lay  me  here 
Upon  the  thymy  hill,  with  eyes  half-closed 
And  pondering  the  swimming  depths  of  blue. 
The  slanting  sun  plumeth  the  gnats  with  gold 
That  dance  across  my  sight ;  the  fresh  young  breeze, 
That  slept  all  day,  cometh  across  the  vale ; 
And  oh  !  a  flood  hath  set  unto  my  soul — 
A  flood  of  eddying  thoughts — the  strange  sad  sense 
Of  utter  loneliness,  and  time,  and  change, — 
The  bright  bright  days  of  old,  the  ancient  scenes 
Full  of  a  thousand  bursting  memories, 
All  of  sad  hue,  and  yet  how  beautiful ! 


42  HABBERLY  VALLEY. 

O  ye  soft  airs,  and  sunny  warmth  of  heaven, 
Ye  sounds  and  sights  I  love,  ye  have  a  spell 
To  conjure  up  dead  feelings,  and  old  dreams, 
And  ancient  homes  of  thought,  long  ruinous, 
And  flowers  that  now  are  food  for  canker-worms. 
Ye  sympathies  that  bind  the  living  heart 
To  all  the  outward  glory  of  the  earth, 
Ye  pour  swift  streams  of  recollection  round  me 
That  ripple  onward  to  the  far  far  past, 
Till  my  whole  soul  is  full  of  their  sad  music ! 
I  wander  far  away ; — I  see  again 
The  glorious  haunts  of  former  days,  those  scenes 
That  taught  me  first  of  beauty  and  of  love. 
I  see  the  graves  of  many  hopes  and  joys  ; 
Ay,  and  about  the  graves  are  flitting  still 
The  shades  of  things  that  were.     O  happy  days 
Light-hearted  days,  again  ye  wander  by, 
Spectre-like  company  !  the  same,  yet  changed  ! 
The  very  lights  and  shadows  pass  again, 
And  yet  they  seem  half-new.     Ah  !  Memory, 
Wander  thou  where  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  not  banish 
That  sense  of  distance  and  of  creeping  change, 
That  linketh  all  the  present  to  the  past : — 
Seek  thou  what  fairest  times  and  scenes  thou  wilt, 
Times  and  scenes  crowded  with  life's  sunniest  flowers, 
Thou'lt  find  some  straggling  wreaths  of  sadder  hue, 
Whose  root  is  in  the  present,  twining  there  ! 

(1S48.) 


FLOATING  OF  THE  BRITANNIA  TUBE.    43 


XTbe  floating  of  tbe  Britannia  Uube, 

June  20,  1849; 
OR,  THIRTEEN  AN  UNLUCKY  NUMBER. 

(founded  upon  fact.) 


Good  Owen  Williams  of  Tyn-y-bryn, 

That  is  hard  by  Maes-y-Pandy, 
Had  a  market-cart  that  was  painted  green, 
And  the  best  brown  cob  that  ever  was  seen, 

And  the  brown  cob's  name  was  Dandy. 

Dandy  the  cob,  he  never  was  gay, 

As  he  tugged  the  loads  of  lumber, 
Yet  he  looked  right  plump  and  sleek  that  day, 
For  he'd  had  a  pinch  of  corn  to  his  hay, 
— And  yet  thirteen,  as  I've  heard  men  say, 
Is  a  terrible  luckless  number. 

And  thirteen  souls,  both  great  and  small, 
With  his  wife  and  sister  and  cousin, 


44  THE  FLOATING  OF 

Good  Owen  Williams  he  treated  them  all, 
And  packed  them  in  till  (woe  befall !) 
There  was  one  beside  the  dozen. 

Now  Dandy  tugged  right  well  at  the  trace 

Till  his  wind  grew  something  shorter ; 
And  yet  he  looked  in  capital  case, 
For  they'd  combed  his  forelock  down  his  face, 
And  dipped  the  comb  in  water. 

Bless  me  !  but  it  was  a  pretty  sight 

To  see  them  fairly  started, 
With  their  hats  so  smooth  and  their  frills  so  white, 
A  dozen  blithe  women  in  holiday  plight, 

Well-dressed  and  merry-hearted  ! 

And  Dandy  had  ne'er  such  a  load  before, 

Tho'  I  trow  he  never  went  faster, 
For  a  huge  brown  pitcher  the  green  cart  bore, 
With  baskets  crammed  with  no  sparing  store 

For  the  dozen  beside  the  master. 

And  oh  !  but  it  was  a  noisy  ride  ! 

And  I'll  lay  you  a  pound  to  a  penny 
They  laughed  till  it  echoed  far  and  wide, 
As  they  trotted  o'er  moor  and  mountain-side, 
Down  to  the  shore  where  the  narrow  tide 

Comes  washing  up  the  Menai. 


THE  BRITANNIA  TUBE.  45 

And  good  ten  thousand  were  gathered  there 

To  see  the  tunnel  afloat, 
And  Stevenson  the  engineer, 
With  Claxton  shouting  his  orders  clear, 
And  slowly  down  to  the  foot  of  the  pier 

Steering  the  mighty  boat. 

Now  Owen  Williams  had  moored  his  craft 

(To  use  the  nautical  diction) 
On  the  side  of  the  common,  where  they  quaffed 
From   the   huge   brown   pitcher,    and   roared  and 

laughed ; — 
For  in  prosperity  men  are  so  daft 

They  never  think  of  affliction. 

The  brown  cob  grazed  on  the  close-cropt  green  : 

In  a  pond  behind  were  swimming 
A  flock  of  white  geese,  all  ragged  and  lean, 
Twelve  and  the  gander  : — 111  luck  to  thirteen 

With  a  dozen  to  one  of  them  women  ! 

The  shafts  were  propped  up,  and  the  day  was  warm, 

And  the  beer  was  tapped  right  gladly : 
And  little  they  thought  there  was  cause  for  alarm 
In  the  flies  that  seemed  to  do  no  great  harm 
Save  teazing  Dandy  sadly. 

But  to  the  wise  man  nothing  is  small, 
As  I  shall  show  most  clearly  ; 


46  THE  FLOATING  OF 

*  For  who  would  have  thought  that  a  fly  on  the  wall 
Some  twenty  yards  off,  unseen  by  all, 
Concerned  them  yet  so  nearly  ? 

The  tube  had  started  without  a  hitch, 
And  the  cheers  uprose  stupendous  : — 

When  the  fly  on  the  wall  flew  over  the  ditch 

To  Dandy's  nose,  which  began  to  itch 
With  an  itching  most  tremendous. 

He  whisked  his  tail,  and  he  shook  his  ears, 

With  a  movement  most  impatient, 
But  all  in  vain  are  his  kicks  and  rears, 
Till  at  last  with  a  steady  course  he  steers 

To  where  his  cart  is  stationed. 

Owen  W7illiams  he  smacked  his  whip, 

But  Dandy's  purpose  was  settled, 
He  marched  to  the  shaft,  and  rubbed  his  lip 
Up  and  down  at  the  very  tip 

On  the  place  the  fly  had  nettled. 

Never  was  luck  to  a  dozen  and  one, 

(To  question  the  fact  were  idle,) 
Dandy's  object  was  quietly  won, 
And  he  lifted  his  head  when  the  rubbing  was  done, 

But  the  shaft  was  caught  in  the  bridle. 

Oh  !  for  the  screams  when  the  cart  uprose ! 
And  verily,  for  that  matter, 


THE  BRITANNIA  TUBE.  47 

A  dozen  Welsh  women,  as  every  one  knows, 
(Or  at  least,  if  you  don't,  you  may  well  suppose,) 
Can  kick  up  a  pretty  clatter. 

Slowly  up  went  the  shafts  in  the  sky, 

And,  to  cut  the  story  shorter, 
Dandy  lifted  his  head  so  high 
That  he  tumbled  the  whole  of  the  company 

Heels  over  head  in  the  water  ! 

Oh  !  for  a  Turner's  mystic  brush 

To  seize  on  the  situation, 
And  weirdly  picture  the  crash  and  crush, 
And  the  geese,  and  the  womankind,  and  slush, 

And  dismay,  and  consternation  ! 

And  Owen  Williams,  he  vowed,  I  ween, 
With  a  vow  right  strong  and  hearty, 

That  never  again  should  he  be  seen 

Making  one  of  a  fatal  thirteen, 
Be  it  ever  so  tempting  a  party ! 


48  THE  HOME  VIEW. 


Ube  t>ome  IDiew. 

(NEARWELL,    SHREWSBURY.) 


Oh  !  God  be  praised  for  a  home 

Begirt  with  beauty  rare, 
A  perfect  home,  where  gentle  thoughts 

Are  trained  mid'  scenes  so  fair. 

And  where  (God  grant  it  so)  the  heart 
That  loves  a  beauteous  view, 

The  while  it  grows  in  truth  and  taste, 
May  grow  in  goodness  too. 

For  'tis  my  creed  that  part  to  part 

So  clingeth  in  the  soul, 
That  whatsoe'er  doth  better  one, 

That  bettereth  the  whole  : 

And  whoso  readeth  nature's  book 
Wide  spread  throughout  the  earth, 

Will  something  add  unto  his  love 
Of  wisdom  and  of  worth. 


THE  HOME   VIEW.  49 

Then  God  be  praised  for  a  home, 

With  dower  of  beauty  blest, 
That  seeth  o'er  a  sunny  plain 

The  mountains  in  the  West — 

Fair  hills,  where  tender  hues  and  tints 

With  flecks  of  sunshine  stray, 
So  full  of  change  that  some  new  grace 

Comes  up  with  each  new  day ; 

Now  cut  in  the  clear  depth  of  sky 

With  outline  sharp  and  pure  ! 
Now  distanced  by  the  hazy  sun, 

In  misty  lights  obscure. 

I  see  them  now  all  softly  shine 

In  one  wide  azure  glow, 
While  bands  of  shadow  o'er  the  lands 

Between  are  moving  slow. 

And  now  all  dark  in  solemn  range 

At  evening  hour  they  stand, 
Fringed  upward  to  green  spaces  clear 

With  shining  orange  band. 

On  gleamy  days  I  see  full  oft 

A  fall  of  sunrays  drop 
Gently  as  flocks  of  birds  alight 

Upon  a  southern  slope. 


50  THE  HOME  VIEW. 

Or  else  I  see  them  softly  steal 
Up  some  gorse-golden  steep, 

Or  down  a  hazel-feathered  gorge, 
Slowly,  like  browsing  sheep. 

The  passing  storm  will  oft  throw  out 

(In  sunny  contrast  seen) 
Upon  the  grassy  mountain-side 

A  space  of  vivid  green. 

And  oft  a  train  of  distant  smoke 
(So  in  God's  earth  and  sky 

All  things  have  beauty,  rightly  seen,) 
Like  silver  floweth  by, 

And  every  hue  that  painters  know, 
And  every  shade  they  love, 

Cometh  upon  those  beauteous  hills, 
Down  from  the  heavens  above. 

And  I  might  sing  of  fairest  things 

Within  the  nearer  plain, 
And  count  the  glorious  works  of  God 

Once  more  in  scanty  strain. 

For  there  are  meadows  golden  green, 
Where  shadows  broad  and  deep 

Of  rounded  elms,  and  dark-leav'd  oaks, 
And  crooked  hawthorns,  sleep. 


THE  HOME   VIEW.  51 

And  there  are  wooded  banks  and  curves, 

Uprising  far  and  nigh, 
And  gracefully  thro'  copsewood  slopes 

The  poplar  shooteth  high. 

And  thus  by  morning  and  by  eve, 

The  same  yet  ever  new, 
I  drink  into  my  inmost  soul 

The  glories  of  the  view  : — 

Thanking  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth 

For  making  all  so  fair ; 
And  hallowing  my  perfect  joy 

With  praises  and  with  prayer. 

(1850.) 


52  SHELSLEY  BEAUCHAMP. 


Sbelsles  Beaucbamp, 


Thou  say'st  that  it  is  nobler  far  to  sing 
Of  Man,  with  all  his  majesty  of  will, 
His  Godlike  mind,  his  mysteries  of  thought, 
His  might  of  hope  and  dread  and  joy  and  woe, 
The  crown  of  all  creation, — than  to  sing 
God's  lesser  works,  the  things  in  earth  and  sky 
Most  beautiful,  the  mountains,  and  the  wood, 
The  breezy  lake,  and  clouds  suffused  with  light 
And  hues  unutterable,  the  delicate  flower, 
The  voiced  spring, — all  perfect  things  that  move 
The  loving  heart  to  thankfulness  and  joy ; — 
Man  is  the  poet's  subject. 

Be  it  so  : — 
Then  I  will  plead  great  lack  of  nobler  thoughts, 
And  of  the  skill  to  mould  them  into  rhyme. 
Be  mine  the  lowlier  aim  :  for  on  my  heart 
Never  hath  deed  of  high  renown,  or  scene 
Of  tender  interest,  drawn  by  purest  art, 
FalPn  with  such  true  and  living  influence 


SHELSLEY  BEAUCHAMP.  53 

As  some  sweet  passing  touch  that  hath  awaked 
A  memory  of  Nature's  simple  truth. 
And  I  would  dwell  in  that  which  is  divine, 
Least  fallen ;  I  would  train  my  heart  to  feel 
The  mystic  might  of  things  that  never  change, 
Things  whose  great  meaning  always  is  the  same, 
Whose  voices  always  speak  to  them  that  hear, — 
The  glory  and  the  beauty  of  the  world. 
Yes,  I  would  change  thy  saying,  if  I  might ; 
Man  is  the  poet's  object:  there  we  meet. 
To  make  man  feel  what  he  himself  hath  felt, 
This  is  the  poet's  work.     To  rouse  the  heart, 
By  all  the  gentle  artifice  of  verse 
Winning  the  imagination  to  our  side 
And  gaining  subtle  entrance,  to  smite  then 
With  all  those  touches  that  have  smitten  us 
For  pleasure  or  for  good  : — this  is  our  work. 

O  Nature  !  high  and  pure  and  holy  Nature  ! 
Grant  me  the  lowliest  place  within  thy  courts, 
Where  I  may  serve  thee,  winning  golden  smiles. 
Oh  for  the  voice  of  song  to  hymn  thy  might ! 
Oh  for  the  genius  that  should  set  in  rhyme 
All  richly  chased  the  jewels  of  thy  wealth 
For  men  to  gaze  upon  !     Yea,  I  would  tell 
Of  wondrous  thoughts,  and  courage,  and  resolve, 
And  holy  hope,  and  power  to  conquer  life, 
Born  of  the  eternal  stars ; — such  truth  and  power 


54  SHELSLEY  BEAUCHAMP. 

As  never  proudest  deed  of  man  best  told 
Hath  given  :  I  would  tell  of  glorious  joy 
Gathered  among  the  lonely  glist'ning  snows 
Of  Alpine  summits  ;  of  large  stores  of  love 
Drawn  from  the  moving  shadows  of  the  woods ; 
Of  praise  o'erflowing  midst  the  sunny  slopes 
Of  hills ;  and  valleys  that  have  made  me  pray. 
Oh  !  I  could  pass  in  memory  one  by  one 
A  thousand  station-points,  rich  varied  scenes 
Of  plain  and  mountain,  moors  and  riverside, 
Sunsets,  and  glorious  nights,  and  first  Spring  days, 
Deep   woodland   hollows,    rock-clefts  fringed  with 

ferns, 
The  roll  of  mighty  waves,  the  still  blue  lake, 
The  wide  earth  and  the  airy  ocean  seen 
From  mountain-summits,  the  pale  light  of  mists, 
The  full-toned  colouring  of  clouded  days  : — 
Points  where  my  heart  hath  halted  in  its  journey 
And  laid  up  stores  for  all  its  after  need. 

That  moment  when  upon  the  gloomy  pass 
Thro'  clouds  and  dreary  wastes  ascending  slow 
First  I  could  pierce  Dunlow's  long  rugged  gorge, 
And  through  the  rent,  as  through  a  wondrous  glass, 
(The  roof  all  hung  with  curtains  of  thick  cloud,) 
Could  see  far  off  a  little  glittering  space 
Of  sunny  plain, — that  moment  is  to  me 
A  rich  possession,  richer  far  than  e'er 


SHELSLE  Y  BE  A  UCHA  MP.  5  5 

I  won  from  plain  where  classic  battle  raged, 
Or  town   where    storied    names    have   lived   and 
wrought. 

An  hour  of  calm  pure  moonlight,  all  too  brief, 
Beside  thy  ripply  marge,  O  fair  Lugano, 
That  perfect  night  when  shoreward  breezily 
The  quivering  waters  all  their  shining  tost, 
Is  worth  to  me  all  hours  that  e'er  I  passed 
Tracking  memorials  of  mighty  men 
In  castles  camps  and  palaces. 

And  thou, 
Sweet  Shelsley,  'mid  the  wanderings  of  my  thought 
And  dreamy  recollections  of  fair  spots, 
Now  gatherest  up  thy  beauties  one  by  one, 
Building  thyself  into  a  perfect  truth. 
Oh  !  to  awake  unto  a  woodland  scene, 
To  gaze  with  the  first  look  on  golden  fields 
And  curved  hill-sides  bowered  with  shadowy  trees, 
The  freshness  and  the  beauty  and  the  sun, 
When  thou  hast  dwelt  in  some  great  town,  and 

seen 
From  thy  dim  lattice  nought  but  weary  streets 
Of  squalid  misery, — what  joy  of  joys  ! 
Thus,  fairest  Shelsley,  on  thy  perfect  vale 
I  gazed  entranced  on  one  sweet  summer  morn. 
From  a  long  slope  I  looked  across  the  fields, 
The  lush  and  flowery  fields,  where  gentle  Teme 


56  SHELSLEY  BEAUCHAMP. 


Glided  amidst  his  willows,  to  the  hills 
That  opposite  were  ruddy  as  they  woke, 
Lifting  their  dewy  freshness  to  the  day. 
The  butterflies  were  fluttering  on  the  grass, 
The  swallows  raced  and  twined  in  giddy  maze, 
With  tiny  joyous  scream,  incessantly  : — 
And  I  was  glad  with  them. 

And  then  a  voice 
Spake  in  my  soul,  disloyally  it  spake  : — 
'  Oh  for  a  lot  cast  amid  all  that's  fair, 
1  Where  my  great  work  might  only  be  to  learn 
'  The  glory  and  the  beauty  of  God's  earth  ! ' 
But  soon  another  voice  made  answer  thus  : — 
*  A  truer  wisdom  were  alway  to  take 
'  Beauty  within  thy  heart,  a  gentle  inmate, ' 
1  Cheering  thy  steps,  like  music  after  toil. 
■  Thy  portion  is  not  here ;  go,  work  thy  work.' 

(1850.) 


CADER  IDRIS.  57 


Cafcer  3&rfs« 


Thou  Form  sublime,  that  drawest  upward  ever 
To  airy  points  thy  far  receding  slopes, — 
Cathedral  mountain,  'mid  the  thousand  shrines 
That  lift  their  gorgeous  steeples  all  around, 
Replete  with  heavenward  praise,  where  every  morn 
The  wild  winds  ring  for  worship ;  let  me  add 
My  puny  voice  to  all  the  mighty  chant 
That  down  thy  sculptured  aisles  a  thousand  streams 
Chant  as  they  march  white-vested.     Temple  vast, 
Great  Dome,  instinct  with  awe  and  thought  pro- 
found, 
Whose  silent  regions  and  unmeasured  space 
Distil  a  sense  of  power  and  majesty, — 
Whose  mighty  walls  of  fretted  rock,  and  slopes 
That  front  all  aspects  of  the  hollow  sky, — 
Whose  forms  that  in  their  changes  infinite 
Make  thee  complete  in  unity, — whose  vastness 
And  grandeur,  that  do  unimpaired  embrace 
The  exquisite  perfection  of  each  part 


58  CADER  IDRIS. 

Wrought  with  minutest  skill,  —  whose  noon-day 

glory 
Scored  with  black  shades  of  deep-cut  masonry, — 
Whose  vaults  with  lavish  beauty  studded,  bossed 
With  clusters  of  huge  angles,  feathered  o'er 
With  foliage  of  all  grace, — whose  marble  floors 
Of  airy  lakes,  that  see  the  starry  hosts 
March  nightly  by, — whose  proud  head  wreathed 

round 
With  lightning   storms,  —  whose  sudden  shouting 

rush 
Of  hurricane,  and  tumult  of  swift  winds, — 
Whose  winter  torrents,  and  whose  glazed  snows, — 
Yea,  and  whose  gem-like  flower  most  delicate 
Nursed  in  a  cleft  of  rock  amid  the  spray 
Of  waterfalls, — all  gloriously  exalt 
Thine  awful  Architect ; — I  would  bow  low, 
Great  Mountain,  in  thy  vast  and  silent  courts, 
Filling  my  soul  with  worship  unto  Him 
Who  built  thee  for  a  temple  to  His  praise. 

(1850.) 


THE  FIRST  SPRING  DA  Y.  59 


Ubc  fftrst  Spring  Bas« 


"  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy." 

Is  Winter  dreaming  of  sweet  summer  hours, 

As  guilty  men  may  dream  of  innocence, 

This  perfect  day,  that  stealeth  soft  and  still 

In  between  moaning  winds  and  skies  of  grey, 

Tenderly  fair,  like  a  celestial  clime 

Islanded  in  a  sullen  wintry  sea? 

'Tis  such  a  day  as  this  that  melts  the  heart, 

Hard  beaten  with  the  tramp  of  passing  years, 

Stirring  its  pulses  with  such  trembling  joy 

They  needs  must  break  forth  into  flowers  of  song. 

I  stand  alone,  and  gather  to  my  soul 
The  strange  sweet  influences  that  are  poured 
Around  me  in  the  soft  and  shining  calm. 
Silence  is  on  the  hill,  whose  Western  slopes 
Are  strewn  with  dreamy  lights  like  gossamer, 
Whose  swelling  knolls  are  lit  each  with  his  crown 


60  THE  FIRST  SPRING  DAY. 

Of  slanting  rays,  above  the  hollow  curves 
Filled  with  dim  shadows,  which  stretch  far  away 
To  where  the  Eastern  scar  falls  off  abrupt 
In  purple  gloom.     Silence  is  on  the  hill, 
And  in  the  trees,  that,  mid'  the  lichened  crags, 
Themselves  as  bare  and  gaunt,  stand  singly  out, 
And  burn  with  ruddy  fire.     And  deep  below 
In  narrow  hollow,  massed  in  sombre  shade, 
Black  yew-trees  brood  like  Night,  the  tender  mist 
Of  sun-rays  dimly  streaking  their  broad  crowns 
Over  the  grassy  ridge ;  and  from  their  feet 
A  little  stream  comes  creeping  ever  on 
From  stone  to  stone  with  tremulous  whispering ; 
While  up  against  their  blackness,  in  the  calm 
Of  airy  space  suffused  with  golden  haze, 
Dim  insects  float  like  wandering  sparks  of  fire. 

I  note  each  separate  grace ; — yet,  while  I  stand 
And  marvel,  over  all  there  passeth  down 
A  might  of  tranced  calm,  a  silent  awe, 
A  dreamy  mystery  of  grief-like  joy, 
That  thro'  the  utter  stillness  and  the  gleam 
Poureth  around  the  heart  a  trembling  sense 
Of  fair  things  far  away.     Oh  !  strange  sweet  power 
In  that  which  is  itself  so  very  fair 
To  banish  all  the  present,  and  bring  near 
Only  the  farthest  distance  !     Why  is  it 
That  when  the  scene,  with  all  its  mellow  lights 


THE  FIRST  SPRING  DAY.  61 

And  glorious  hues,  and  with  its  subtle  charm 

Of  tender  influences  strewn  around, 

Might  well  content  with  only  that  which  is, — 

Why  is  it  that  the  spirit  in  such  hour 

To  that  which  is  not  floateth  far  away, 

Listening  intent  to  delicate  undertones 

That  vibrate  now  from  all  the  viewless  strings 

Which  bind  it  ever  to  the  golden  past  ? 

Where   is   the   touch   that   plays   those   wondrous 

strings, 
Whisp'ring  along  the  spaces  far  away 
In  airy  music,  sad,  aye  unto  tears, 
Yet  oh,  how  perfect  ! — Where  the  mystic  power 
That  bears  the  wistful  heart  so  far  far  off, 
Like  to  some  bird  that  on  its  poised  wings 
All  motionless  is  ever  onward  borne 
By  airy  stream,  till,  passing  from  all  ken, 
It  seems  to  vanish  thro'  some  opal  gate 
Of  sunset  heavens  ? — 'Tis  that  such  a  day 
Standeth  apart  from  that  on  either  side, 
All  unlike  in  its  aspect,  its  soft  calm 
Cheating  the  heart  with  sweet  forgetfulness, 
And  in  its  very  strangeness  banishing 
The  sense  and  memory  of  present  things, 
The  chills  of  yesterday,  the  morrow's  rain. 
It  cometh  in  its  strangeness  like  a  dream 
Apart  from  all  before  and  after  it, 
Too  strange,  too  bright,  too  tender,  to  belong 


62  THE  FIRST  SPRING  DAY. 

To  present  things, — its  very  air  suffused 
With  trembling  fragile  visions  of  fair  scenes 
Long  past  and  far  away, — its  thrilling  stillness 
Instinct  with  memories,  too  sad  for  joy, — 
Too  sweet  for  sorrow, — yet  all  undefined, 
Half-memories  of  all  bright  and  far-off  things, 
Of  strange  sweet  feelings,  such  as  this  day  stirs, 
Felt  long  ago  : — I  call  them  memories, 
Yet,  as  they  come,  they  seem  to  pass  away 
In  infinite  longings,  hopes  that  reach  far  forth 
Into  a  mystic  void  that  only  seems 
That  which  I  want, — and  very  far  away. 
The  present  is  all  gone ;  and  thro'  my  soul 
Two  voices  pour  their  intense  harmony, 
Wordless,  yet  taking  captive  all  my  being 
With  their  great  song, — ev'n  Memory  and  Hope ! 

Oh  !  why  so  rarely  now  come  days  like  this  ? 
Why  must  the  daily  round  of  trivial  cares 
And  outward  duties  hang  like  a  dark  veil 
Shutting  away  from  me  the  joyous  light 
Of  Nature's  earnest  face,  which  once  I  loved 
How  eagerly !     For  'twas  not  always  so. 
My  childhood's  home  was  in  a  town,  but  there 
A  garden-terrace  looked  o'er  meadow-lands 
Out  to  a  hill,  whose  hollow  banks  were  rich 
With  knots  of  varied  foliage.*     I  should  pass 

*  Haughmond  Hill,  as  seen  from  the  Stone  House,  Shrewsbury. 


THE  FIRST  SPRING  DAY.  63 

Such  scene  a  hundred  times  scarce  noticed  now. 

But  that  was  then  my  secret  store  of  joy, 

And  thither  I  would  run  alone  each  day, 

And  oft-times  in  a  day,  to  taste  anew 

The  deep  mysterious  draught  of  my  delight. 

There  too  I  well  remember  how  my  heart 

Leapt  up  exulting,  with  a  startled  joy 

And  sudden  thrill  that  held  the  breath,  to  see 

Cracking  the  wintry  earth  with  points  of  green 

The  venturous  spirelets  of  the  crocus-buds. 

O  glorious  joys  of  childhood,  what  are  ye  ? 
O  tender  lights,  that  floated  round  my  path, 
O  heavenly  beauty,  strewn  before  my  feet, 
O  love  intense,  the  dower  of  childish  years, 
Whence  came  ye  ?    Whither  have  ye  passed  away  ? 
To-day  I  seem  to  set  my  foot  once  more 
Within  the  borders  of  your  fairy-land. 
Oh  !  tell  me,  ere  ye  go,  ye  fleeting  guests, 
What  message  bear  ye  ?     Are  ye  shattered  lights 
From  a  more  luminous  sphere, — faint  memories 
Of  that  which  man  once  was,  when  from  God's  hand 
Godlike  he  came,  and  streams  of  heav'n's  own  light 
Played  round  him  still  ?     Are  ye  dim  memories 
Coming  all  intertwined  with  splendid  hopes 
Which  may  abide,  when  ye  are  seen  no  more  ? 
Yea,  I  will  wrest  an  answer,  ere  ye  pass, 
And  ye  shall  speak  these  words  unto  my  soul : 


64  THE  FIRST  SPRING  DAY. 

' 0  man,  that  weepest  for  youth's  golden  hours 
When  on  the  earth  there  lay  a  heavenly  gleam 
And  lustrous  radiance  thou  canst  no  more  find, 
Turn  thou  and  gaze  before  thee. — Far  away, 
Over  the  weary  plains,  where  thou  must  tread 
In  calm  content  thine  ever  onward  path, 
There  on  the  dim  horizon,  faint  and  far, 
Are  striking  up,  like  shadowy  spears  of  fire 
In  northern  midnights,  gleams  of  wavering  light 
From  some  vast  unseen  glory.     Yea,  for  there, 
Whither  thou  goest,  is  the  very  fount 
Whence  flowed  the  early  radiance  and  the  gleam 
That  lit  the  earth  to  thy  young  eyes  ;  and  there 
Thou  shalt  behold  it  yet  again  : — but  now 
No  dim  reflection,  no  rare  transient  joy, 
Gilding  some  blissful  solitary  hour, 
A  dream  of  interwoven  tremulous  rays, 
So  delicately  spun  its  airy  woof 
Melts  at  the  breathing  of  a  little  word, 
Fades  at  the  coming  of  thy  closest  friend  ; — 
But  one  eternal  rapture,  where  all  hearts 
Are  widened  to  embrace  all  joys  in  one, 
And,  banded  in  great  love,  are  flooded  o'er 
With  bliss  that  changeless  ever  seemeth  new, 
Seeing  in  glorious  vision  evermore 
The  infinite  beauty,  which  no  speck  nor  flaw 
May  sully,  of  the  "very  far  off  land."' 

(1858.) 


THE  REOPENING  OF  OWSTON  CHURCH.     65 


On  tbe  IReopening  of  ©wston  Cburcb, 
Xeicestersbire* 


See  the  Church  her  head  once  more  hath  lifted  ; 

Seemly  order  dwells  within  her  gate ; 
God-sent  art  adorns  her  holy  precincts, 

And  no  more  she  lieth  desolate. 

What  is  it  that  she  is  saying,  brothers? 

All  the  subtle  skill  of  graver's  hand, 
All  the  heavenward  shafts,  and  bended  arches, 

Utter  speech  to  those  that  understand. 

You  can  hear  them  telling  some  things  loudly, 
Telling  of  ungrudging  love  and  care ; — 

But  I  catch  an  inner  voice  that  pleadeth 
Soft  and  sweet,  like  music  in  the  air. 

And  it  saith,  from  every  wreathed  column, 
Every  leafy  carving,  breathing  low, — 

1  Take  our  message,  O  ye  living  temples, 
'  Fold  it  in  your  hearts  before  ye  go. 


66     THE  REOPENING  OF  OWSTON  CHURCH. 

'  Purge  the  shrine  of  your  own  souls  within  you 
1  From  all  stain  of  pride  and  sloth  and  sin, 

1  Grace  it  with  all  saintly  decoration, — 

*  Then  your  God  shall  come  and  dwell  within.' 

(1861.) 


THE  LAST  COMMUNION.  67 


TIbe  Xast  Communion, 

(on  a  feeble  old  man  coming  once  more  to 
the  holy  communion  after  illness.) 


He  had  been  near  unto  the  golden  gate  : 
Serene  he  waited  for  his  Master's  calling ; 

It  came, — '  A  little  longer  thou  must  wait, 

'  The  sands  of  life  have  not  yet  ceased  their  falling.' 

Once  more  he  passeth  by  the  well-known  way, 
Tho'  sight  be  dim,  tho'  footstep  fail  and  falter, 

Led  by  the  hand,  once  more  this  holy  day 
He  draweth  nigh  unto  his  Lord's  dear  altar. 

He  kneeleth  low  ;  he  heareth  words  of  bliss ; 

With  hand  upspread  and  eyelid  closed  he  kneeleth; 
Oh,  what  an  hour  of  peace  and  joy  is  this  ! 

Oh,  in  what  love  his  Lord  Himself  revealeth  ! 

We  see  the  trembling  form  ;  but  far  from  sight 
The  spirit  passeth  to  more  glorious  regions, 

Behind  the  veil,  upborne  on  wings  of  light, 
Blending  its  worship  with  Angelic  legions. 


68  THE  LAST  COMMUNION. 

Entranced  he  gazeth  on  the  wounded  Side, 
The  precious  Stream  for  him  in  mercy  flowing, 

The  low-bowed  Head,  the  Arms  outstretching  wide, 
The  awful  Cross  with  mystic  radiance  glowing. 

Servant  of  God  !     Thou  hast  not  long  to  stay ; 

Soon  the  weak  bonds  that  hold  thee  here  shall 
sever  : 
Then  shalt  thou  gaze  upon  the  perfect  day, 

And  Him  thou  lov'st,  for  ever  and  for  ever. 


THE  THREE  PUNDITS.  69 


TTbe  XTbree  Ipunfcits,* 


A  Bishop,  a  Dean,  and  a  Canon,  they  say, 
Were  discussing  a  difficult  passage  one  day. 

Said  the  Canon,  ■  I  rather 

'  Agree  with  a  father, 

'  And  fancy  I  see 

'  A  profound  mystery, 
'Which  confutes,  when  unravelled,  with  stringent 

austerity 
'  Modern  impugners  of  Catholic  verity.' 

Said  the  Dean,  '  It  is  clear 
'  There's  a  knotty  point  here ; 
'And  I  really  can't  say 
*  That  I  quite  see  my  way : 
'The  Germans  no  doubt 
1  Have  found  it  all  out : 

*  Bishop  Ellicott  of  Gloucester,   Dean  Alford,  and  Canon 
Wordsworth  (afterwards  Bishop  of  Lincoln). 


yo  THE  THREE  PUNDITS. 

'  Ah  no  !     But  the  Canon  is  wrong,  I  am  sure  ; 
'  So  it's  best,  as  we  find  it,  to  leave  it — obscure.' 

Said  the  Bishop,  'To  me 

'The  solutions  seem  three, 

1  Which  I'll  call  a,  b,  c. 

'  In  favour  of  a 

'  There  is  much  to  say ; 

'  Something  for  &, 

'  And  a  little  for  c. 

'Against  a  I  find 

'  Reasons  strong  to  my  mind ; 

'  But  by  stronger  ones  yet 

1 B  and  c  are  both  met. 
'  And  so  when  the  three  I  impartially  weigh, 
'  I'm  disposed  to  give  in  my  adhesion  to  a.' 

It  was  thus  that  the  Canon 

Patristical  ran  on ; 

It  was  thus  that  the  Dean 

Halted  doubting  between ; 

It  was  thus  that  the  Bishop 

The  meaning  did  fish  up  : 
It  was  thus  that  Dean,  Canon,  and  Bishop,  they 

say, 
Discussed  that  most  difficult  passage  one  day. 


GOLDEN -S  A  XIFRA  GE.  7 1 


6olfcen*5a£tfra3e* 

(PONT-VAEN,    NEAR    CHIRK.) 


Where  budding  alders  drop  their  trellised  shadows 

on  the  stream, 
By  the  margin  of  the  narrow  meadow's  golden  breadth 

of  gleam  ; 
Where  round  about  the  mossy  stones  the  glimmering 

water  whirls 
With    bubbles   making   rings    of  light   and   strewing 

shadowy  pearls  ; 
Where  thro'  the  sunlights  and  the  shadows,  by  the 

ancient  roots, 
Under  the  grey  arch  fringed  with  fern  the  arrowy  ousel 

shoots  ; 
Where  the  larch's  glorious  greenness  shines  all  up  the 

slanting  height, 
Greenness  shining  not  a  colour  but  a  tender  living 

light ; 
Where  the  sorrel  hangs  its  graceful   bells ;  ere  yet, 

with  dreamy  glow, 


72  GOLDEN-SAXIFRAGE. 

The  purple  haze  of  hyacinths   floats   in    the  wood 

below ; — 
There  mid  the  margin-mosses,  far  from  dusty  ways  of 

men, 
The  Saxifrage  with  lavish  wealth  of  gold  endows  the 

glen. 
Ah !  River,  on  thy  glimmering  banks,  and  down  thy 

glistening  sands, 
Bring  not  the  golden  grains  to  lure  unloving  eager 

hands  ; 
But  ever  pour  about  thy  marge  the  flush  of  golden 

flowers, 
To  make  the  heart  rich  with  sweet  thoughts  to  store 

for  dimmer  hours. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  GARDEN.  73 


XTbe  Gbtlfcren's  (Barfcem 

(a  plot  in  the  churchyard  at  whittington 
reserved  for  children  only.) 


Where  is  the  children's  garden-ground  ? — 
Near  the  church,  where  the  stately  lime 
Hums  all  day  with  a  dreamy  sound 
In  the  leafy  summer-time. 

What  is  the  seed  in  that  garden  sown  ? — 
It  is  poor  and  feeble  and  little  worth, 
And  we  sow  it  in  tears,  in  the  cold  dim  earth 
Buried  deep  deep  down. 

Tell  me,  when  will  the  Spring-tide  be  ? — 
When  the  Day-star  riseth  upon  the  gloom, 
And  He  who  maketh  each  flower  and  tree 
Biddeth  the  garden  bloom. 

How  will  blossom  that  garden-plot  ? — 
Rows  of  lilies,  all  pure  and  white 
As  woodland  snow-wreaths  without  a  spot, 
Shining  with  living  light. 


74  THE  CHILDREN'S  GARDEN. 

What  are  those  blossoms  so  brightly  fair  ?- 
The  little  ones,  at  the  trumpet's  sound 
Springing  up  in  their  beauty  there 

From  the  children's  garden-ground. 


A  SUNBEAM.  75 


H  Sunbeam, 

(to  l.  c.) 


When  the  thorn-leaves  golden-brown 
One  by  one  were  trembling  down, 
And  across  the  misty  dell 
Slanted  bars  of  amber  fell ; 

Then  a  little  winning  face, 
Pure  and  bright  and  full  of  grace, 
Softly  as  the  slanting  ray 
Fell  upon  my  heart  one  day. 

Smiles  of  Autumn  quickly  fly, 
Amber  mists  are  floating  by, 
And  the  glistening  sunrays  pass 
From  the  silver-braided  grass  : 

But  my  little  sunbeam  lies 
In  my  heart,  a  life-long  prize  ; 
Storm  or  shadow,  come  what  will, 
It  will  live  and  shine  there  still. 


76  HOMEWARD. 


Ibomewarfc, 

(losing  sight  of  cader  idris.) 


Round  this  purpled  shoulder,  like  a  pageant, 
One  by  one  the  mountain  summits  die  : — 

Even  as  earth's  narrow  outlines  near  us 
Hide  the  infinite  glories  from  the  eye. 

Homeward  once  again.     Ah  !  vanished  mountains, 
Like  old  friends,  your  faces  many  a  day 

O'er  the  bowery  woods  shall  rise  before  me 
And  the  level  corn-lands  far  away. 

By  the  dreamy  rippling  in  the  sunlight, 

By  the  windy  surgings  of  the  shore, 
Up  the  thymy  sheep-tracks  thro'  the  heather, 

I  must  wander,  glad  of  heart,  no  more. 

Yet  I  bear  with  me  a  new  possession ; 

For  the  memory  of  all  beauteous  things 
Over  dusty  tracks  of  straitened  duties 

Many  a  waft  of  balmy  fragrance  brings. 


HOMEWARD.  77 


Was  it  thriftless  waste  of  golden  moments 
That  I  watched  the  seaward-burning  West, 

That  I  sought  the  sweet  rare  mountain-flowers, 
That  I  climbed  the  rugged  mountain-crest, — 

That  I  wandered  up  the  narrowing  valleys, 

Plying  oft  the  angler's  lonely  art, 
Valleys  deepening  from  the  glorious  ocean 

Far  into  the  mountain's  silent  heart, — 

Splendid  glens,  instinct  with  magic  beauty, — 
Glimmering  lights  among  the  tender  green — 

Glancing  waters,  trembling  into  hollows, 
Thro'  the  latticed  branches  dimly  seen, — 

Upward  still  to  wilder  lonelier  regions, 
Where  the  patient  river  fills  his  urn 

From  the  oozy  moorlands,  'mid  the  boulders 
Cushioned  deep  in  moss  and  fringed  with  fern,- 

That  I  wandered,  treasuring  the  beauties, — 
Unfamiliar  forms  to  lowland  eye, — 

Filling  all  the  soul  with  silent  praises 
For  the  glory  of  the  earth  and  sky  ? 

Let  me  rather  deem  that  I  have  gathered, 
On  the  lustrous  shore  and  gleamy  hill, 

Strength  to  bravely  do  the  daily  duty, 
Strength  to  calmly  bear  the  chancing  ilL 


78  MO  UNTA  IN -PA  NSIES. 


flfoountatn^pansies* 

(MOELYDD,    NEAR   OSWESTRY.) 


Up  among  the  dainty  mountain-mosses, 
Where  the  freshest  breezes  ever  blow, 

On  the  slopes  that  front  the  open  heavens, 
There,  like  gems,  the  purple  pansies  grow. 

All  around  are  glorious  mountain-ranges, 

Some  in  shade  and  some  with  sunlight  browed, 

And  soft  gleams  of  green  and  gold  and  purple 
Fall  thro'  windy  rents  of  drifting  cloud. 

Rough  and  lichened  rocks,  in  knolls  and  ledges, 
All  their  hollows  crowded  up  with  fern, 

Break  the  springy  turf,  and  round  about  them 
Golden-blossomed  gorses  brightly  burn. 

There,  with  keen  eye  gazing  on  the  distance, 
Standing  on  the  wild  and  breezy  down, 

You  can  see  full  many  a  home  and  hamlet,— 
See  the  dim  spires  of  the  far-off  town. 


MO  UNTA  IN -PA  NSIES.  79 

It  is  here,  where  all  is  free  and  open, 

Here,  where  wild  winds  ever  come  and  go, 

Here,  with  nought  between  them  and  the  heavens, 
That  the  gemlike  purple  pansies  grow. 

Open  all  thy  soul  to  God's  great  glory, 

Let  all  heavenly  influence  round  thee  pour, 

Then  thy  heart,  like  the  wide  breezy  mountain, 
Shall  with  gemlike  thoughts  be  studded  o'er. 


8o  CONVERSE. 


Converse. 

(PENMAENMAWR.) 


Two  friends  sat  wrapped  in  converse  low  and  grave, 
Heart  open  unto  heart,  hand  linked  in  hand, 
Hearing,  yet  hearing  not,  the  pulsing  wave 
Beat  on  the  shadowy  strand ; 

Gazing  in  frequent  pause  with  dreaming  eye 
O'er  the  wide  silver  sea  into  the  West, 
Making  sweet  silences,  when  faint  words  die, 
And  loving  hearts  take  rest ; 

Sweet  silences,  that  strangers  never  know, 
Between  the  murmured  words,  that,  like  a  dream, 
Wander  amid  the  past  scenes  dim  and  low, — 
Oh,  how  far  off  they  seem  ! 

Words  following  silence,  silence  following  words, 
So  sped  the  golden  sunset,  till  the  land 
Grew  dimmer,  and  the  last  white  flock  of  birds 
Flashed  on  the  glimmering  sand. 


J 


CONVERSE.  81 


Then  all  at  once  upstreamed  in  rippling  flow 
Of  silent  rosy  waves  a  second  sea, 
Surging  across  all  heaven,  a  trancing  show 
Of  gorgeous  pageantry  ! 

The  feathered  cloudlets  rilled  the  plains  of  air, 
Ranged  by  the  soft  wind's  delicate  marshalling, 
Till  you  could  fancy  Angel  armies  there, 
Nought  seen  but  burnished  wing. 

Then  more  low  converse  till  the  last  rose  paled  :- 
But  oh  !  if  earth  may  bear  such  peace  and  love, 
What  shall  the  converse  be  when  earth  has  failed 
And  spirits  meet  above  ! 

(1867.) 


82     ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BISHOP  LONSDALE. 


©n  tbe  2>eatb  of  Bisbop  Xonsfcale 
of  XicbfieR), 

Oct.  19,  1867. 


The  pulses  of  a  great  and  loving  heart 
Are  still,  and  tears  are  dimming  many  eyes. 
Scarce  had  the  echoing  outbursts  time  to  die 
That  rose   but    now    from    that  vast   deep-stirred 

throng,* 
Responsive  to  his  gracious  parting  words, — 
Scarce  had  that  voice  itself  its  pleadings  ceased 
For  the  dear  Church  he  loved  and  ruled  so  well,t 
When  weary  he  lay  down  and  fell  asleep. 
"  Labour  and  sorrow  "  with  his  fourscore  years 
Came  not.     With  sword  in  hand  upon  the  field 
The  white-haired  warrior  fell.     Oh,  blissful  end  ! 


*  The  Church  Congress  at  Wolverhampton. 

f  The  meeting  held  at  Stafford  on  the  day  of  his  death  in 
behalf  of  Canon  Woodard's  Scheme  of  Middle- Class  Church 
Education. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BISHOP  LONSDALE.     83 

Who  would  not  pray,  "  My  last  end  be  like  his  "  ? 
Full  sorely  shall  we  miss  the  calm  wise  mind ; 
The  wide  and  ready  sympathy  ;  the  love 
Unselfish,  patient,  Christlike ;  the  large  soul 
That  held  in  its  embrace  all  good  and  true ; 
The  single  heart  that  thought  and  knew  no  guile. 
A  noble  life  hath  nobly  wrought  itself, 
And  graven  in  a  thousand  stricken  hearts 
A  deathless  monument  that  evermore, 
Like  the  fair  spires  of  his  own  glorious  fane, 
Stands  pointing,  calm  and  motionless,  to  heavea 


84  THE  LAST  BATHE. 


Zhc  %ast  Batbe** 


Into  the  arms  of  a  little  bay, 

Rock-encompassed  on  either  side, 
Dredging  the  many-hued  stones  as  they  lay, 
Tore  and  thundered  the  passionate  tide. 
All  up  the  slippery  slabs  of  the  rocks, 
With  long  white  arms  and  back-strewn  locks, 
Like  forms  of  Despair  that  shrieked  and  sang, 
The  upward-shivering  cataracts  sprang. 

Father  and  son  stood  side  by  side, 
Watching  the  glorious  tide 

With  its  thunderous  shocks 

Smite  the  echoing  rocks, 
And  the  mighty  breakers  tower  and  curl, 
Marbled  with  emerald  and  pearl 
And  the  backward  foam  of  the  yeasty  swirl. 

*  The  narrative  is  true,  except  that  the  author  was  mercifully 
saved  when  all  seemed  over. 


THE  LAST  BATHE.  85 

And  the  father  said,  "Oh,  were  it  not  joy 
To  plunge  in  those  beautiful  waves,  my  boy — 

To  be  borne  on  high 

As  the  billows  rush  by, 
And  then  deep  down  in  the  hollows  to  lie  ! 
I  have  never  yet  swum  in  so  grand  a  sea, 
But  I'll  dare  it  to-day,  and  thou'lt  dare  it  with  me  ! " 

The  huge  billow  broke 
With  a  hungry  roar, 
And  its  headlong  stroke 

Drove  the  boy  to  the  shore  ; 
But  the  father  he  fought  through  the  battling  wave, 
And  out  from  the  land  struck  joyous  and  brave. 

The  great  green  lines  of  the  swift  strong  sea 
Came  by  like  charges  of  cavalry 
With  their  coats  of  mail  and  their  snowy  crests, 
But  they  bore  him  up  on  their  mighty  breasts, 

Up  on  high 

In  their  rushing  by, 
Then  dropt  him  low  in  the  hollow  to  lie. 

It  was  joy  to  brave 

The  glorious  wave  : 
He  had  never  swum  in  a  sea  so  grand, 
But  he  dared  it  then  as  he  struck  from  the  land. 

Sweetest  of  mothers  !  she  sits  by  the  bay, 
Haifa  mile  away, 


THE  LAST  BATHE. 


Smiling  to  see  her  youngest-born  play, 

With  his  little  bare  feet 
Venturing  near  as  the  waves  retreat, 

Then  running  away, 

Half  afraid,  half  in  play, 
Shouting,  "  O  mother  !  look,  look  at  the  sea  ! 
It  was  such  a  big  one ;  it  nearly  caught  me!" 
Sweetest  of  mothers  !  she  smiles  in  her  joy — 
She  smiles  for  her  love  of  her  merry-voiced  boy. 

He  has  turned  and  struck  out  shoreward  again, 

And  he  swims  with  might  and  main — 

Why  is  his  strength  so  vain  ? 
The  great  green  rushing  mountains  of  sea 
Are  coursing  shoreward  impetuously, 

And  they  lift  him  high 

In  their  surging  by, 
Then  drop  him  low  in  the  hollow  to  lie ; 
And  he  swims  for  dear  life,  and  he  thinks  each  crest, 
That  lifts  him  high  on  its  awful  breast, 
Must  carry  him  onward  ;  but  never  more 

Nears  he  that  coveted  shore  ! 

Oh,  sweetest  mother  ! — oh,  gentlest  wife  ! 
Thy  loved  one  is  struggling  for  thee  and  for  life  ! 
The  winds  have  heard  that  one  dread  cry, 
"  I  am  drowning  !    Oh,  help  me  !  " — but  they  pipe  by 
Singing  their  storm-song  lustily  : — 


THE  LAST  BATHE.  87 

And  thou,  sweet  mother,  art  smiling  with  joy 
As  they  blow  in  the  locks  of  thy  blue-eyed  boy. 

A  current  is  sweeping  out  of  the  bay 

With  an  under-sucking  might ; 
And  ended  at  last  is  the  deadly  fray, 

And  fought  the  desperate  fight 
Like  a  broken  spar,  or  a  tangled  weed, 
He  is  rolled  in  the  billow  with  none  to  heed, 
And  none  to  help,  for  the  thunderous  roar 
Is  all  that  is  heard  on  the  foam-wreathed  shore. 

The  boy  has  gazed  at  last  on  the  sea — 

"  Oh  !  where  is  my  father  ?     Oh  !  where  is  he  ?  " 

And  his  heart  turns  faint,  and  his  straining  eye 

Glares  in  a  speechless  agony — 

Can  it  be  ? — can  it  be  ? 

Who  will  tell  her  ?     Oh  !  who  will  dare  ? 

Who  will  go  to  her  there  ? 

Who  will  say  that  the  splendid  wave 

Is  of  all  her  life  the  grave — 

That  the  light  of  the  home  is  gone, 

That  the  life  of  her  life  is  done, 

That  the  heart  of  her  heart  is  no  more  ? 

There  she  smiles  as  she  sits  on  the  shore. 

Oh  !  who  will  go  to  her  there  ? 

Who  will  dare  ? — who  will  dare  ? 


88  THE  LAST  BATHE. 

The  wind  fell  as  the  sun  went  down. 

Next  day  it  was  calmly  bright. 
And  there  on  the  sandy  reaches  brown, 
With  the  manifold  sea-weed  strown, 

In  the  glittering  morning  light, 
Smiling,  as  if  in  happy  play, 
The  sea  gave  up  its  prey. 
There,  in  its  awful  soulless  glee, 
With  a  musical  wash  the  ebbing  sea, 

As  it  bared  the  broadening  lands, 
Laid  him  down  exultingly, 

Face  upwards  on  the  sands. 

(1868.) 


A  PUZZLING  QUESTION.  89 


H  pU33ltna  Question, 


"  Why  does  the  Rector  keep  an  ass  ?  " 
This  was  the  theme  of  a  hot  dispute, 
As  ruefully  cropping  the  scanty  grass 
In  front  of  the  Rectory  stood  the  brute. 

His  collar  was  chained  to  an  iron  peg ; 

A  fetter  was  strapped  to  each  fore-leg ; 

And  he  brayed  out  a  long-drawn  asinine  volley, 

The  essence  of  musical  melancholy. 

A  lady  famed  for  practical  views 

Offered  a  simple  explanation  : — 

'  The  donkey,'  quoth  she,  '  they  constantly  use 

'  For  drawing  the  Rector's  beer  from  the  station.' 

Said  a  second,  '  For  shame  !     It  is  perfectly  clear 

I  The  Rector  cannot  drink  all  that  beer. 

I I  believe  that  the  ass  (which  is  far  more  pleasant) 
1  From  some  dear  friend  was  a  touching  present : 


90  A  PUZZLING  QUESTION. 

*  Perhaps  it  was  little  when  first  he  had  it, 
'  And  little  donkeys  are  dear  little  things, 
1  And  I'm  sure  it  does  his  feelings  credit 
'If,  now  it  is  old,  to  the  beast  he  clings.' 

'  I,'  said  an  epicure,  '  venture  to  speak  : — 
1  You  saw  in  the  Times  how  uncommonly  well 
'  A  party  of  gentlemen  only  last  week 
'  Dined  upon  horse  at  the  Langham  Hotel : 

'  Well,  it  strikes  me  as  not  such  a  very  bad  guess 
'  That  the  Rector,  regarding  the  dearness  of  food, 
'  Thinks  if  horse-flesh  turns  out  such  a  savoury  mess, 
'  In  all  probability  donkey's  as  good.' 

Said  another,  '  My  notion  is  speedily  told  : 
1  The  Rector  is  troubled  with  corns  on  his  toes, 
'  So  in  primitive  guise,  like  a  patriarch  old, 
1  To  visit  his  flock  on  his  donkey  he  goes.' 

'  What  nonsense  you  talk  ! '  said  a  boy  fresh  from 

school, 
'  Why,  you'd  make  out  the  Rector  a  regular  fool  : 
'  Each  summer,  I  tell  you,  he  gives  a  school-feast, 
1  And  to  run  in  the  races  he  keeps  the  good  beast.' 

1  Now  I  have  a  notion,'  cried  one,  '  in  my  brain  : — 
'  The  Rector  for  learning  a  character  bears, 
'  While  his  flock  are  mere  rustics,  and  hard  is  the  strain 
'  To  bring  down  his  thoughts  and  his  language  to  theirs : 


A  PUZZLING  QUESTION.  91 

1  So  just  as  a  barber  selects  the  fair  tresses, 
1  And  first  manufactures  his  wigs  on  a  block, 

*  To  the  donkey  the  Rector  his  sermons  addresses, 
1  Thus  fitting  his  words  to  the  brains  of  his  flock.' 

Then  a  lady  propounded  one  other  solution, 
While  a  little  smile  twinkled  half-hid  in  her  eye  : — 
'  The  Rector,'  she  said,  *  has  a  constitution 

*  Full  of  brotherly  love  and  sympathy.' 


92  FAIRYLAND. 


ffatr£lan&  %ost  an£>  IReaatnefc. 

(ON    RE-VISITING   WORKINGTON    IN    CUMBERLAND.) 


There  is,  or  there  was,  for  I  scarce  know  which, 

Or  I  once  believed  there  to  be, 
A  home  with  all  golden  treasures  rich, 

On  the  shore  of  a  Northern  Sea. 

I  knew  it  well,  when  a  child  I  played 
With  the  shells  on  that  pebbly  strand ; 

Never  were  shells  in  such  hues  arrayed 
As  the  shells  of  my  Fairyland  ! 

I  knew  it  well,  on  the  thymy  flat 

When  I  gathered  a  harebell  blue  ; 
Never  was  harebell  so  wondrous  as  that 

In  my  Fairyland  which  grew  ! 

I  knew  it  well,  when  the  marvellous  ships 

Lay  moored  at  the  harbour  quay  ; 
But  the  gladdest  thing  was  to  watch  the  dips 

Of  the  boat  coming  in  from  the  sea. 


FAIRYLAND.  93 

I  have  been  there  again,  as  a  grey-haired  man : 

Ah  me  that  I'd  stayed  away ! 
I  knew  the  spot  where  a  child  I  ran 

With  the  shells  and  the  flowers  to  play : — 

It  is  not  others  have  marred  the  spot ; 

Nor  Time  with  his  pitiless  hand 
That  has  wrought  the  changes  which  blur  and  blot 

The  light  of  my  Fairyland  j 

It  was  no  weird  trick  of  a  fairy  elf 

That  the  child  or  the  man  beguiled  : — 

It  is  I  myself  that  have  robbed  myself, 
The  man  that  has  robbed  the  child  ! 

Ah  me  !  for  the  stunted  flowers  that  stoop 
Their  smoke-sickened  bells  on  the  lea  ! 

Ah  me  !  for  the  sordid  collier-sloop 
That  steers  for  the  harbour  quay  ! 

Ah  me  !  for  the  shells  that  were  once  so  fair  ! 

For  the  hues  with  which  they  shone  ! 
There  are  refuse  heaps  of  the  shells  still  there, 

But  the  grace  and  the  tint  are  gone. 

And  yet — and  yet — there  are  pictures  twain ; 

And  both  I  have  surely  seen : 
I  saw  it  once,  and  I  saw  it  again — 

And  who  shall  judge  between? 


94  FAIRYLAND. 

The  child  he  saw  it  all  tenderly  lit 
With  the  light  of  childish  glee  : 

The  man  he  came  and  he  looked  on  it, 
And  he  saw — what  he  could  see. 

And  who  shall  say  that  the  child's  pure  eye 

Saw  not  a  truer  thing 
Than  to  his  critical  phantasie 

The  man's  worn  sight  could  bring  ? 

For  I  think  that  sight  is  the  truest  sight 

Of  God's  own  beautiful  world 
That  seeth  His  teachings  of  love  and  of  light 

In  the  meanest  place  unfurled. 

And  even  as  it  is  good  to  be 

A  child  in  heart  and  in  mind, 
So  I  think  full  often  the  child  can  see, 

Where  the  full-grown  man  is  blind. 

And  of  my  two  pictures  the  first  I  choose, 
When  Fairyland  round  me  smiled  : 

The  man's  scant  vision  I  will  to  lose, 
And  to  see  as  saw  the  child ! 

(1870.) 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BISHOP  GRAY.        95 


On  tbe  2)eatb  of  :JBisbop  (Brag 
of  Capetown, 

Sept.  i,  1872. 


Rest,  Heart,  from  all  thy  pulsing  fire  that  beat 
At  trumpet-call  of  high  self-sacrifice, 
Rest  till  another  trumpet  bid  thee  rise, 
Oh,  rest  from  all  the  burden  and  the  heat ! 
Champion  of  God  !  no  more  thine  eager  feet 
Shall  track  the  prints  of  Him  who  went  before, 
And  woke  thy  heart-love  for  the  cross  He  bore, 
And  drew  thee  to  Him  by  His  love  so  sweet. 
To  thee  God's  Word  was  true,  for  God  was  true, 
Christ's  Church  beloved  for  love  of  Christ  who  died ; 
Well  didst  thou  wield  the  sword  the  long  day  through 
To  guard  from  loss  the  Word,  from  stain  the  Bride. 
O  bravest  tenderest  heart,  all  fire,  all  love  ! 
Thy  work  is  done  !     Rest  with  the  saints  above  ! 


96  TWO  BURIALS. 


Zwo  Burials, 


[The  two  following  entries  stand  next  to  each  other  in  the 
Register  of  Whittington  Parish,  Shropshire,  in  the  year  1877  : — 

Sept.  13. — Ellenor  Watkins,  of  Borth,  aged  31. 

Oct.  9. — Ellenor  Watkins,  of  Borth,  aged  one  month.] 

Sleep,  sweet  mother !     Thy  task  is  done  ; 

It  is  time  for  thee  to  rest. 
Trustfully  leave  thy  little  one 

To  lie  on  another's  breast. 
God's  love,  O  mother,  is  greater  than  thine, 
And  He  calls  thee  away  to  a  peace  divine. 

Bright  was  the  vision  that  met  her  eyes, 

Yet  it  was  not  wholly  fair ; 
And  sweet  were  the  glades  of  Paradise, 

Yet  she  missed  one  sweetness  there  : 
For  Heaven  itself  would  lack  one  grace 
Till  the  mother  might  look  on  her  little  one's  face. 


TWO  BURIALS.  97 


And  God  looked  down  from  His  golden  throne 

On  the  mother's  heart  of  love, 
And  He  sent  to  the  earth  a  shining  one 

To  carry  her  child  above  ; 
And  He  laid  it  down  on  her  yearning  breast  — 
And  then  the  mother  had  perfect  rest. 


98  WRITTEN  IN  A  LADY'S  ALBUM. 


Written  in  a  %aby's  Blbum, 


Mid  warriors,  statesmen,  poets,  and  musicians, 
Valhalla- names,  all  crowned  with  deathless  fame, 
This  is  no  place  for  men  of  lowlier  missions, 
Of  simple  life  and  unhistoric  name. 

And  yet  not  always  are  the  lives  of  mortals 
With  chances  of  heroic  act  endowed ; 
Valhalla  opens  not  its  jealous  portals 
To  every  toiler  in  the  passing  crowd. 

Our  greatness  lies  in  doing  small  things  greatly, 
And  noble  motive  glorifies  the  least ; 
Therefore,  O  lady,  mid  the  grand  and  stately 
Scorn  not  the  poor  words  of  a  rustic  priest. 

(1878.) 


THE  BABIES'   WOOD  TURKEY-COCK.       99 


Ghe  babies'  moob  TTurfeqMIocfe. 

FACT    AND    FABLE. 


At  Babies'  Wood  Farm  lived  a  Turkey  Cock — 
(In  Scotland  they'd  call  him  a  'Bubbly-Jock') — 
A  jolly  old  fellow,  portly  and  stout, 
Who  stuck  out  his  crop  as  he  strutted  about, 
And  blustered  and  gobbled  and  chuckled  all  day 
In  a  highly  self-satisfied  sort  of  a  way. 
He  could  swagger  and  brag  at  no  end  of  a  pace, 
And  could  fly  in  a  rage,  and  get  red  in  the  face, 
For  I  fear  that  his  temper  was  none  of  the  best, 
And  was  apt  now  and  then  to  be  freely  expressed. 
On  the  rest  of  the  poultry  he  looked  with  disdain, 
And  thought  no  small  beer  of  himself,  it  was  plain  : 
While,  to  judge  by  his  countenance,  really  I  think 
One  might  just  have  suspected  him  fond  of  his  drink 

Now  this  jolly  old  bird  of  wives  had  a  pair, 
Matronly,  modest,  sleek,  and  fair  : 
(The  Turks  in  Turkey,  if  men  say  true, 
Are  never  content  with  less  than  two  :) 


ioo      THE  BABIES'  WOOD  TURKEY-COCK. 

And  the  worthy  creatures,  as  good  wives  should, 
Each  of  them  hatched  him  a  promising  brood. 
And  he  stuck  out  his  crop  as  he  strutted  away, 
And  blustered  and  gobbled  and  chuckled  all  day, 
'  Oh  !  arn't  I  a  swell ! '  cried  this  jolly  old  Turk, 
'  The  hens  mind  the  young  ones — that's  mere  woman's 
work.' 

Ah,  me  !  how  chequered  with  trouble  and  woe 
Is  the  life  of  men  and  of  birds  below  ! 
Lo  !  the  joy  of  the  eve  is  the  morning's  sorrow, 
And  the  pride  of  to-day  the  despair  of  to-morrow  ! 

Alas !  and  alas  !  for  that  rollicking  bird  ! 

'Tis  the  mournfullest  story  that  ever  was  heard  : — 

The  fox,  he  came  stealing  at  dead  of  night, 

And  there  rose  one  horrible  scream  of  fright, 

For  he  pounced  alike  upon  fledgling  and  mother, 

Carrying  havoc  from  one  to  another, 

Till,  in  merciless  wanton  thirst  of  blood, 

He    had    slaughtered    the    half    of    the   helpless 

brood  : 
And,  when  on  the  earth  smiled  the  rosy  morn, 
There  they  lay  headless  and  mangled  and  torn, — 
The  two  fair  hens  that  had  been  his  pride, 
And  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  poults  beside. 
And  he,  poor  fellow,  with  downcast  tail, 
And  with  pendulent  crest,  and  his  comb  all  pale, 


THE  BABIES'  WOOD  TURKEY-COCK.      101 

Blubbered  and  gobbled  most  piteously, 
And  cackled  his  grief  in  a  minor  key. 

Now  had  he  only  been  man,  not  bird, 

Or  had  he  ever  by  good  luck  heard 

How  Christian  fathers  at  such  times  do, 

He  might  have  been  spared  much  trouble,  it's  true. 

In  that  case  this  is  what  he'd  have  said  : — 

1  My  two  poor  wives  are  both  of  them  dead  ; 

4  It's  very  sad,  but  to  mourn  and  fret 

'  Never  did  any  one  much  good  yet. 

1  So  I'd  better  bear  it  as  best  I  may  ; 

I  And  as  for  the  little  ones,  well-a-day  ! 

I I  can't  be  bothered  with  things  like  those, 
'  Somebody  '11  look  to  them,  I  suppose. 

1  So,  just  to  cheer  up  my  spirits,  I  think 
*  I'll  go  to  the  public,  and  have  some  drink.' 

Ah  !  but  the  poor  old  Bubbly-jock, 

He  wasn't  a  Christian,  but  only  a  cock  : 

So  you  couldn't  expect  him  to  know,  like  you, 

What  a  Christian  in  such  a  case  would  do. 

Besides  he  had  never  been  to  school  : — 

So  what  do  you  think  he  did,  poor  fool  ? 

Why,  he  called  his  little  ones  round  about  him, 

(For  how,  poor  things,  could  they  do  without  him  ?) 

And,  brushing  a  tear  from  the  end  of  his  beak, 

With  a  heart-broken  gobble  began  to  speak  : — 


102      THE  BABIES'   WOOD  TURKEY-COCK. 

1  My  dears,  since  you've  lost  your  mothers,  you  see 
'  You'll  have  for  the  future  to  look  to  me.' 

The  little  ones  stood,  like  dutiful  birds, 

With  their  heads  on  one  side,  as  they  pondered  his 

words ; 
But  the  weather  was  cold,  and  for  shelter  and  rest 
They  longed  for  just  one  thing — a  mother's  warm 

breast. 
And  they  longed  not  in  vain  ;  for  the  penitent  Turk 
No  longer  talks  bigly  of  '  mere  woman's  work.' 
See,  he  calls  them  all  close,  and,  without  more  delay, 
He  broodies  them  quite  in  a  motherly  way : 
And  he  leads  them  about,  and  looks  after  their  food, 
And  never  was  mother  more  kind  to  her  brood. 
And  now  that  they  all  have  grown  bigger  and  stronger, 
And  need  his  paternal  assistance  no  longer, 
You  may  sometimes  detect  in  the  swell  of  his  breast, 
In  the  flirt  of  his  tail,  or  the  hue  of  his  crest, 
That  the  pride  of  his  nature's  not  out  of  him  quite  ; 
For  he  gobbles  by  day,  and  he  chuckles  by  night, 
Saying  '  Arn't  I  a  swell !     For,  I  swear  by  my  beard, 
'There  are  no  finer  turkeys  than  those  that  I  reared.' 

MORAL. 

All  ye  unfeathered  bipeds  !  mark  my  word  : 
A  man  may  learn  some  lessons  from  a  bird. 


BARMOUTH.  103 


Barmoutb. 

(an  aggrieved  visitor.) 


Listen,  men  and  maidens  fair, 
Who  to  Barmouth  do  repair, 
Seeking  health  and  pastime  there, 
Basking  in  its  sunny  air, 
While  of  grievances  a  pair 
With  a  sad  heart  I  declare. 

First  of  all,  you  are  aware 
That  no  prospect  can  compare 
(Search  the  land  through  everywhere) 
With  the  river  view  so  rare. 
How  then  could  those  Vandals  dare 
To  block  out  the  sweet  view  there 
By  that  wall  all  gaunt  and  bare 
Built  along  the  road  so  fair  ? 
'Tis  enough  to  make  men  swear, 
And  fair  maidens  tear  their  hair, 
As  on  tip-toe,  in  despair, 


io4  BARMOUTH. 


Vainly  they  attempt  to  stare 

O'er  the  stones  so  rude  and  square. 

Men  of  Barmouth  !  if  you  care 

For  the  wealth  of  beauty  rare 

Which  your  glades  and  mountains  wear, 

Surely  from  your  wall  so  bare 

Two  feet  you  might  rightly  spare  : — 

That  would  just  the  wrong  repair. 

But  another  wrong  I  bear 
In  my  bosom,  rankling  there. 
Listen,  men  and  maidens  fair, 
And  with  me  my  sorrows  share. 
Why,  oh !  why,  I  ask,  whene'er, 
Rising  from  my  easy  chair, 
I  would  breathe  the  balmy  air, 
Pacing  on  your  thoroughfare, 
Seeking  to  dispel  dull  care 
With  the  sight  of  all  things  fair, — 
Why  must  every  rocky  lair 
On  its  cloven  surface  bear — 
Not  the  dainty  Maidenhair, 
Not  the  Sea-Fern — would  it  were  ! — 
But  (it  is  too  bad,  I  swear  !) 
Posters— hideous,  vulgar,  square, 
That  with  sallow  sickening  glare, 
Blurring  nature,  flaunt  and  flare 
On  the  grey  rocks  everywhere  ? 


BARMOUTH. 


Men  of  Barmouth  !  hear  my  prayer  : 
If  a  worthy  pride  you  share 
In  your  country,  do  and  dare  ! 
From  that  wall,  so  gaunt  and  bare 
Four  and  twenty  inches  pare  : 
And  from  all  the  rock-slabs  there 
Those  atrocious  posters  tear ; 
Nor  in  future  let  them  bear 
Ought  the  eye  of  taste  to  scare 
Save  this — 

Bill-stickers,  Beware  ! 


io6  OLD  AND  NEW. 


©to  anb  IFlew, 

(donington  church.) 


[At  the  re-opening  of  this  church  on  April  29,  1879,  the  tower 
was  lying  in  ruins,  having  fallen  suddenly  a  few  weeks  before.] 

Lapsed  in  ruin,  blotted  from  the  landscape, 
Lies  the  ancient  belfry  to  the  West : 

Graced  with  loving  tendance,  Nave  and  Chancel 
Eastward  rise  in  novel  beauty  dressed. 

Yet  amid  the  gifts  of  new  adornment 

Age-worn  carvings  bear  their  sombre  part, 

And  the  fair  proportions  witness  ever 
To  the  old-world  builders'  reverent  art. 

And  I  see  it  rise — that  ancient  belfry — 
Once  more  perfecting  the  maimed  view, 

(Life  and  order  out  of  death  and  ruin,) 
Old  in  plan,  in  strength  and  structure  new. 


OLD  AND  NEW.  107 

Thus  for  self,  and  thus  for  Church  and  Nation, 
We  would  pray  Thee,  Lord,  the  life  to  mould, 

In  the  great  unfoldings  of  Thy  mercy 
Interblending  still  the  new  and  old 

Teach  Thy  children,  still  with  reverence  tracing 
Saintly  footprints  in  the  ancient  ways, 

All  new  gifts  of  strength  and  grace  and  wisdom 
Upward  ever  on  the  old  to  raise. 


io8  THRIFT  THE  PLANT. 


Ubvift  tbe  plant.* 

(armeria  vulgaris.) 


On  sandy  wastes,  ere  yet  the  frugal  root 
Of  tender  grass  can  feed  the  springing  shoot, 
Fringing  each  sterile  bank  and  rocky  rift 
Green  grow  the  tufted  cushions  of  the  Thrift. 

Thick  set  with  grass-like  leaves  it  nestles  there, 
A  home  for  statelier  herbage  to  prepare ; 
And,  graceful  in  its  modest  duty,  robes 
The  strand  with  rosy  Lilliputian  globes. 

Nor  will  our  dainty  flower  the  task  disdain, 
Trim  order  in  our  gardens  to  maintain, 
Guarding  from  wanton  growth  or  ruthless  tread 
The  shapely  outline  of  each  chequered  bed. 

Ah,  well-named  flower  !     For  of  a  Thrift  we  sing 
Skilled,  like  thyself,  a  fertile  growth  to  bring, 
In  barren  wastes  with  Hope's  sweet  verdure  rife, 
The  pledge  and  potency  of  statelier  life  ! 

*  Written  for  the  first  number  of  the  Periodical  "  Thrift." 


THRIFT  THE  PLANT.  109 

Our  Thrift  shall  fertilize  the  springing  blade, 
And  fence  our  life-plots  with  a  fairy  braid ; 
Tis  better  worth,  and  comelier  beside, 
Than  that  rank  Saxifrage  called  "London  Pride  !  " 

(1883.) 


no  LONDON  PRIDE. 


Xonfcon  iprifce, 

(SAXIFRAGA     UMBROSA.) 
(An  Apology.)* 


Poor  London  Pride  !     Forgive  the  cruel  wrong 
I  did  thee  in  my  ill-considered  song. 
"  Comparisons  are  odious,"  I  know, 
And  'twas  not  fair,  dear  flower,  to  treat  thee  so. 
Thou  art  not  proud,  so  pleads  thine  advocate, 
And  I  confess  my  error,  tho'  so  late. 
Thy  dubious  name  speaks  not  thy  quality, 
But  rather  argues  London  proud  of  thee. 
For  I  have  seen  thee  in  the  sylvan  glen, 
Deep  hidden  from  the  curious  gaze  of  men, 
Crowning  the  mossy  boulder,  low  between 
The  lacing  willows  and  the  brooklet's  sheen. 
I've  seen  thee  where  thou  lovest  best  to  dwell 
Gracing  green  Erin's  cooler  hill  and  dell, 

*  The  author  received  a  remonstrance  against  the  last  line  of 
the  preceding  poem. 


LONDON  PRIDE.  in 

Showering  thy  leafy  wealth  and  floral  spray 
With  lavish  love  to  make  lone  mountains  gay. 
Yet  dost  thou  not  our  meaner  tracts  despise, 
Smoke-laden  breezes,  fog-encumbered  skies, 
With  face  of  gay  content  disdaining  not 
The  unkempt  nook  of  urban  garden-plot. 
Oh,  humble  Pride  !     Thy  just  revenge  forego, 
And  in  my  London  garden  come  and  blow. 

(18S3.) 


H2  THE  BOY  HERO. 


Uhe  :JBos  ibero* 

(a  true  story  in  its  main  facts.) 


Children,  listen  to  the  story  I  will  try  my  best  to 

tell, 
Of  a  hero  brave  as  any  that  in  battle  nobly  fell ; 
It  was  not  in  long-past  ages,  nor  in  country  far  away, 
But  the  scene  was  Bristol  city,  and  it  was  the  other 

day; 
And  the  hero  of  my  story  was  a  boy  but  six  years 

old, 
Yet  I  think  his  name  is  worthy  to  be  written  up  in 

gold. 

Johnnie  Carr  and  Willie  Stephens  went  out  play- 
ing in  the  street, 
Willie  was  two  years  the  younger,  and  his  face  was 

pale  and  sweet ; 
Little  Willie  !  pretty  Willie  !  many  a  stranger  passing  by 
Turned  and  smiled  at  little  Willie  with  his  wide  blue 
wondering  eye. 


THE  BOY  HERO.  113 

Johnnie  Carr  was  strong  and  rosy,  curly  haired,  and 
hazel  eyed, 

Bright  and  merry — who  can  wonder  Johnnie  was  his 
mother's  pride  ? 

Yet  there  was  a  spark  of  mischief  lurking  in  those 
dimpled  cheeks, 

Though  you  never  could  be  angry  at  his  little  thought- 
less freaks. 

Willie's  hoop,  see,  he  has  taken,  running  laughing 
on  before  j 

Little  Willie  tries  to  catch  him,  till  he  scarce  can  follow 
more : 

Then  the  tears  come,  yet  he  follows  with  his  little 
weary  feet, 

Follows  to  the  fields  and  hedges  far  beyond  the  busy 
street ; 

Then  he  sits  beside  the  pathway,  crying  in  his  childish 
woe, 

Weeping  sadly  for  his  mother,  asking  home  again  to  go. 

Chilly  is  the  autumn  evening,  quickly  falls  the  deepen- 
ing shade ; 

Johnnie  takes  the  little  hand  and  bids  him  not  to  be 
afraid. 

So  a  little  while  they  wander,  but  they  miss  the  home- 
ward track, 

And  the  wind  is  blowing  colder,  and  the  night  comes 
drear  and  black. 

H 


U4  THE  BOY  HERO. 

1  Oh,   I   am   so   tired,   Johnnie ! '   little  Willie   sadly 

cries; 
'  And  I'm  cold  and  hungry,  Johnnie  ! '    Tears  are  now 

in  Johnnie's  eyes : 
He  has  teased  the  little  fellow,  and  he's  full  of  sad 

remorse, 
1  Get  up,  Willie,'  he  is  saying  ;  *  get  up ;  I  will  be 

your  horse.' 
Then  upon  his  back  he  took  him,  staggering  on  be- 
neath his  load, 
Staggering  just  a  little  distance  on  the  dark  and  friend- 
less road ; 
But  the  burden  was  too  heavy,  and  he  set  poor  Willie 

down  : — 
Sorely  puzzled  now  was  Johnnie  how  to  get  to  Bristol 

town. 
'  Don't  be  frightened,  Willie,'  said  he ;  'we  will  stop 

out  here  to-night, 
'  And  we'll  find  our  way  directly  when  there  comes  the 

morning  light.' 
On  a  gate  they  sat  a  little,  then  said  Johnnie,  '  Let  us 

look, 
'  P'rhaps  within  the  field  behind    us  we  may  find  a 

sheltered  nook.' 
So  into  the  field  they  clambered,  and  a  sheltered  nook 

they  found, 
Where  the  little  tired  fellows  laid  them  down  upon  the 

ground. 


THE  BOY  HERO.  115 

But  the  sodden  earth  was  chilly,  and  they  shivered 

lying  there, 
Little  Willie,  cold  and  hungry,  sobbing  for  his  mother's 

care. 

Then  got  up  our  little  hero — he  was  only  six  years 

old, 
Yet  he  could  not  bear  that  Willie  should  be  crying 

with  the  cold. 
In  his  brave   love   all    unconscious,    just  in  simple 

childish  guise, 
Never  thinking   he  is  sharing  in  a  mightier   Sacri- 
fice, 
Johnnie  took  his  little  jacket,  laid  it  down  to  make  a 

bed, 
And    his   other    clothing    simply   over    little   Willie 

spread  : 
Then  himself  laid  down  uncovered   (save  his  little 

socks  and  shirt), 
Thinking,  '  I  am  strong,  but  Willie's  very  small  and 

shan't  be  hurt.' 

With  a  start  there  came  to  Johnnie  sudden  thought 

of  One  who  cares 
For  His  children,  and  he  whispered,  '  Willie,  we  forgot 

our  prayers.' 
There  they  knelt,  the  little  fellows,  side  by  side  upon 

the  sod, 


n6  THE  BOY  HERO. 

With  their  simply  lisped  '  Our  Father '  casting  all  their 

care  on  God. 
Then  once  more   they  lay  enfolded   in  each  other's 

arms  so  fast, 
And  the  night  wind  bleak  and  cruel  froze  them  with 

its  chilling  blast. 

See  those  fathers,  half  distracted,  friends  and  neigh- 
bours pressing  near, 
Into  every  nook  and  corner  how  with  eager  haste  they 

peer ! 
See  those  mothers,  broken-hearted  for  their  darlings, 

how  they  gaze 
Wheresoe'er  the  friendly  lanterns    high  uplifted  cast 

their  rays  ! 
Aye,  but  chiefly,  as  the  tide  falls,  longing  much  yet 

dreading  more, 
Hollow-eyed  the  oozy  mud-banks  of  the    river  they 

explore. 
Hour  by  hour  of  chill  and  darkness  (oh,  how  slow 

the  morning  light !) 
In  their  hopeless  search  they  wander  all  that  long  and 

dreadful  night. 

It   is   morning :   they   have   found   them.     Lo !  a 
labourer  on  his  way 
Came  upon  them  as  still  folded  in  each  other's  arms 
they  lay. 


THE  BOY  HERO.  117 

They  are  breathing,  barely  breathing,  all  unconscious, 

cold  as  stone : 
Noble  Johnnie  !  pretty  Willie !  yes,  the  life  has  not 

quite  flown. 
And  they  take  them  to  a  cottage,  and  they  chafe  each 

frozen  limb ; 
Little  Willie  has  been  covered,  there  is  better  hope 

for  him, 
And  the  mothers  stand  there  watching,  and  their  tears 

are  falling  fast. 
Little  Willie's  eyelids  tremble;  yes,  there's  hope  for 

him  at  last ! 
See  the  warm  milk  he  has  swallowed  !  See,  he  sighs 

a  little  sigh ! 
Then  he  smiles,  as  on  his  mother  he  uplifts  his  large 

blue  eye. 
But  the  little  hero,  Johnnie — ah  !  they  chafe  his  limbs 

in  vain  ! 
Never  shall  his  merry  laughter  echo  through  the  house 

again. 
Faint  and  fainter  comes  his  breathing,  marble  white 

that  open  brow ; 
Who  will  dare  to  speak  of  comfort  to  those  stricken 

watchers  now? 
*  O  my  Johnnie  !     O  my  Johnnie !  speak  to  me  one 

little  word ! ' 
Sobbed  the  mother,  but  I  know  not  whether  Johnnie 

ever  heard. 


n8  THE  BOY  HERO. 

Yet  at  once,  as  one  awaking,  with  his  eyelids  open 

wide, 
Just  one  word  he  whispered  faintly — it  was,  '  Willie  ! ' — 

then  he  died. 

In  the  churchyard  Johnnie's  sleeping  underneath 
the  grassy  mould : 

No  one  puts  a  stone  upon  it  lettered  with  the  tale  in 
gold  :— 

( 'Neath  this  stone  a  little  hero,  Johnnie  Carr  of  Bristol, 
lies, 

1  Who  to  save  his  little  playmate  gave  his  life  a  sacri- 
fice.' 

Children  !  think  how,  when  the  nations  gather  round 

the  mighty  throne, 
He  who  gave  His  life  for  others  will  claim  Johnnie 

for  His  own. 
Think   how  full    of  strange    sweet    wonder  will   the 

gracious  tidings  be, 
'  What  thou  didst  to  little  Willie,  that  I  count  as  done 

to  Me.' 


A   TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION.      119 


H  XTale  of  tbc  Xonfcon  /HMssion  of  1874. 


1  Come  in  !  Come  in  ! '  the  lady  said, — the  door  stood 

open  wide, 
The  church   was   bright,   and   young  and   old  were 

ranging  side  by  side  : 
The  lady's  look  was  soft  and  grave,  her  voice  was  low 

and  sweet  : — 
The  girl  half  stopped  and  turned — and  then  went 

faster  down  the  street. 
One  moment,  and  a  gentle  hand  upon  her  arm  was 

pressed, 
'Oh,  won't  you  stay?'  the  kind  voice  said,  'Come 

in,  come  in  and  rest : 
1  The   missioner    will   preach    to-night,    and   all   the 

church  is  free, 
'  You  won't  refuse  me  now,  my  child  ;  come  in,  and 

sit  by  me.' 
'No,  no,'  she  said,  yet  stopped  and  looked,  (it  was 

not  hard  to  trace 
The  conflict  passing   like   a   cloud  across  that   fair 

young  face) — 


120     A  TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION. 

Then  hastily,  as  though  she  feared  her  heart  at  last 

might  fail, 
Passed  in  and  sat  beside  the  door,  so  weary,  sad,  and 

pale. 
The  preacher  spoke  of  God's  great  love,  and  how  the 

Saviour  blest 
Called  weary  souls  to  come  to  Him  that  He  might 

give  them  rest. 
He  spoke  no  grand  or  learned  words,  he  used  no 

studied  art, 
He   simply  spoke   as   one  who   tried   to   reach   his 

brother's  heart. 
It  was   the  old   old   story,   that   can  never   pall  or 

tire 
When  the  lips  with  grace  are  fervent,  and  the  heart 

with  love  on  fire. 
And  the  lady  marked  how  one  by  one  the  tear-drops 

grew  and  fell, 
While  eagerly  those  wistful  eyes  were  fixed  as  by  a 

spell. 
And   then   a   hymn   rose    all    around — no   cultured 

choir's  display, 
For  every  voice  and  every  heart  seemed  moved  to 

sing  that  day  \ 
And  faster,  faster,  rained  the  tears,  for  with  the  well- 
known  air 
Came  back  her  childhood's  happy  days,  her  childhood's 

home  so  fair. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION.      121 

She  sees  her  father's  thin  white  locks,  her  mother's 
loving  eyes — 

This  night  she  cannot  put  aside  the  memory,  if  she  tries : 

She  sees — she  cannot  help  but  see — the  little  sister 
sweet ; 

She  hears  upon  the  broad  old  stairs  the  little  patter- 
ing feet : 

They  laid  her  in  the  old  churchyard  beneath  the 
sombre  yew — 

And  '  Oh  !  my  God ! '  the  poor  girl  sobs,  '  that  I  were 
laid  there  too  ! ; 

And  now  the  preacher  stands  and  waits,  and  bids 
who  will  to  stay, 

For  he  is  yearning  for  their  souls,  and  he  has  more 
to  say. 

The  lady  still  is  kneeling  there,  but  kneeling  all  alone, 

She  lifts  her  head, — alas!  the  girl  has  left  the  church 
and  gone. 

She  had  so  yearned  to  take  her  hand  and  help  her, 
and  she  sighs 

To  think  of  that  poor  suffering  face,  those  eager  tear- 
ful eyes. 

The  pleading  voice  has  ceased,  yet  still  a  scattered 

few  are  there, 
As  one  by  one  the  Missioner  kneels  by  their  side  in 

prayer : 


122      A  TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION. 

And  one  by  one  they  pass  away  with  hearts  that  throb 

to  feel 
They  have  been  very  near  to  One  whose  touch  hath 

power  to  heal. 
1  Oh  !  had  that  poor  child  only  stayed  and  told  her 

tale  of  grief,' 
The  lady  thinks,  '  perchance  she  too  had  found  the 

blest  relief ! ' 
And    now   from  out    the    silent   church   she  with    a 

friend  departs ; 
Their  words  are  few,   but  fewest  words  speak  best 

from  fullest  hearts. 
They  part  at  last ;  and  there  behold  !  half  eager  and 

half  shy, 
The  girl  with  those  poor  tear-stained  cheeks,  that  sad 

beseeching  eye. 

I  Oh,  it  was  long  to  wait,'  she  said,  '  I  thought  it  ne'er 

would  end  : 
'And  then  I  could  not  speak  to  you,  for  you  were 

with  your  friend ; 
Oh,  help  me,  help  me,  if  you  can  ! '    The  lady  gently 
smiled — 

I I  will,'  she  said,  '  but  God  is  Love,   and  He  will 

help  His  child.' 
Oh,  no  !  oh,  no ! '  the  poor   girl  cried,  despair  in 

every  tone, 
'You  cannot  know  how  far  away  from  His  true  fold 

I've  gone. 


A   TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION.      123 

« 
I'm  not  as  one  who  never  knew ;  time  was  I  used  to 

pray, 
1 1  tried  to  do  the  right,  but  oh !  I've  sinned  His  Love 

away  ! 
'Five  years  have  passed  since   I  wrote  home,   and 

now  I  cannot  tell 
'  Whether  my  parents   are   alive  :   they  don't  know 

where  I  dwell. 
1  And  all  that  time  I  never  once  have  crossed  the 

church's  door 
'  Until  this  night — and  now,  O  God  !  there's  hope  for 

me  po  more  ! ' 
'  Nay,  nay,  that  can't  be  true,  my  child,'  (and  oh  !  like 

gentle  rain 
The  words  fell  on  that  withered  heart  and  softened 

it  again) ; 
'Why  did  God  let  me  come  to  you?     Why  did  He 

let  you  stay, 
1  Unless  He  had  some  word  of  hope  to  speak  to  you 

to-day  ? 
'Oh,  offer  Him  this  very  night  that  worthiest  sacri- 
fice, 
'The  broken  and  the  contrite  heart  which  He  will 

not  despise. 
'  We  both  have  need  of  pardoning  grace  ;  yes,  sister, 

we  will  lay 
'  Our  sin-stained  souls  before  His  feet,  and  for  His 

mercy  pray. 


124     A  TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION. 

I  And  promise  me  one  thing — this  night,  before  aught 

else  you  do, 
'That  you  will  to  your  mother  write,  and  ask  her 

pardon  too.' 
'  I  will,'  she  sobbed ;  and   then  her  hand  the  lady 

kindly  took, 
And  bade  her  read  the  blessed  words  of  peace  in 

God's  own  Book. 

I I  have  no  Bible   now,'  she   said  :   the   lady  sadly 

smiled, 
1  That  must  not  be,'  she  said,  '  take  mine ;  and  now 
good  night,  my  child.' 

Next  morning  at  a  hospital  the  lady  needs  must 

call— 
Ah  !  little  dreamt  she  of  the  tale  that  on  her  ears 

would  fall. 
Why  runs  the  nurse  to  meet  her  there  ere  she  can 

speak  a  word  ? 
1  Oh  !  is  it  not  most  strange  and  sad  !     Nay,  surely 

you  have  heard  ? 
'  A  girl  has  been  brought  in  to-day,  but  only  just  to  die, 
1  By  some  rough  driver  in  the  street  struck  down  and 

left  to  lie. 
'We  know  her  not,  but  you  may  know,  for,  strange 

as  it  may  sound, 
1 A  Bible  with  your  name  in  it  was  all  the  clue  we 

found.' 


A   TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION.      125 

'Oh,  let  me  see,' the  lady  said,  'I  think  I  know  too  well  — 
'Yes,  it  is  she — but  tell  me,  nurse,  whate'er  there  is 

to  tell.' 
'Not  much,'  she  said,  'but  once  she  spoke,  before 

she  passed  away ; 
'  We  thought  she  gasped,  "  Thank  God  !  Thank  God! 

this  was  not  yesterday  ! "  ' 

Next  day  there  stood  before  the  gate,  with  hearts 

too  full  to  speak, 
A  father  with  his  thin  white  locks,  a  mother  grave 

and  meek. 
The  kind  folk  at  the  lodging-house  had  guessed  their 

errand  well, 
And  sent  them  on,  buc  had  not  heart  the  thing  they 

knew  to  tell. 
The  lady  sees  them  standing  there ;  she  knows  who 

it  must  be ; 
No  need  to  ask  them  who  they  are,  or  whom  they 

come  to  see. 
She  runs  to  meet  them — 'Yes,'  she  cries,  'I  know 

what  you  would  say ; 
'Your   child    is    here;    my    poor,    poor    friends,    it 

happened  yesterday. 
'  Come   in,   come  in  :  God  comfort   you,    and   make 

you  firm  and  brave, 
'  For  oh  !  your  child  has  gone  to  Him,  and  found 

Him  strong  to  save.' 


126     A   TALE  OF  THE  LONDON  MISSION. 

And  then  she  took  them   by  the   hand   like   little 

children  weak ; 
They   went   with   her,    scarce    knowing    aught,    too 

stunned  to  think  or  speak. 
And  then  she  told  them  all  the  tale,  in  loving  words 

and  slow  : — 
Ah  me !   they  came  to  find  their  child — and  they 

have  found  her  so  ! 

She  lay  there  white  and  beautiful,  no  trace  of  con- 
flict now, 
No  lines  that  told  of  sin  or  shame  upon  that  marble 

brow. 
The  aged  pair  they  knelt  beside  the  bed  where  she 

was  laid, 
And  "  Not  our  will  but  Thine  be  done  ! "  amid  their 

sobs  they  prayed. 
What  though  the  flower  of  childhood's  grace  no  more 

be  blooming  there, 
His  snow-white  lily  Death  has  laid  upon  that  form 

so  fair. 
"  Blest  are  the  pure  in  heart " — so  once  the  Friend 

of  sinners  cried  : — 
Yet  not  unblest,  methinks,  are  those  whom  He  has 

purified  ! 

(1882.) 


TO  THE  PRIMATE  DESIGNATE.  127 


Uo  tbe  primate  2>esfgnate* 


[Written  on  the  news  of  the  nomination  of  the  Bishop  of 
Truro  (Benson)  to  the  Primacy.] 

As  full  of  awe  as  Death's  own  awful  call, 

The  voice  that  from  thy  dear  young  Western  flock 

Summons  thee  to  the  forefront  of  the  field. 

For  thine  the  charge,  'mid  darkling  cloud  and  storm, 

To  hold  on  high  the  banner  of  the  Cross, 

Rallying  the  armies  of  the  God  of  hosts. 

Nay,  sterner  tasks  are  thine  :  we  summon  thee 

From  strange  confusions  to  elicit  peace  ; 

To  blend  with  strength  of  ancient  loyalty 

The  impetuous  forces  of  swift-rushing  days  ; 

To  weave  the  web  of  old  historic  power 

With  woof  of  newer  thoughts  and  fresher  life; 

To  trace  high  principle  'mid  tangled  facts ; 

To  bravely  spurn  the  false,  maintain  the  true. 

The  Church  hath  need  of  thee,  thou  man  of  God  ! 

Oh,  win  the  Christless  thousands  back  to  her ; 


128 


TO  THE  PRIMATE  DESIGNATE. 


Oh,  shrine  her  in  a  nation's  loyal  trust ; 
Oh,  crown  her  with  a  people's  generous  love  ! 
God  make  thee  wise  and  strong  and  brave  to  guard 
Her  life,  her  unity,  her  liberties  ! 


December  1882. 


PENCIL  OR  PEN.  129 


pencil  or  pern 

(CWM    ELAN,    NEAR    RHAYADR.) 


Oh,  for  the  spell  of  the  artist's  brush, 

To  carry  this  golden  glen, 
And  to  set  it  there  'mid  the  roar  and  rush 

Of  wearily  toiling  men  ! 

They  should  gaze  on  the  mountain's  eloquent  face, 
They  should  breathe  its  fragrant  air, 

And  perchance  a  dream  of  the  wondrous  grace 
Might  lighten  a  dim  heart  there. 

Ah,  toiler  !  not  for  myself  alone 

Would  I  love  all  fair  things  well ; — 

Thou  shalt  sit  with  me  on  my  mossy  throne 
At  the  foot  of  the  upland  dell. 

Thou  shalt  gaze  with  me  on  the  mountain  sweep, 

With  its  manifold  changeful  hue  ; 
Thou  shalt  watch  with  me  the  cloudlet  sleep 

On  the  breast  of  the  changeless  blue. 


130  PENCIL  OR  PEN. 

Here  purple  with  heather,  there  green  with  fern, 

The  broad  slopes  gleam  afar  ; 
And  ruddy  the  slanting  sun-rays  burn 

In  the  thorn-bush  on  the  scar. 

Thou  shalt  watch  the  stream,  from  pool  to  pool 

Singing  and  smiling  still, 
In  its  mimic  waterfalls,  bright  and  cool, 

As  it  drops  from  the  far-drawn  hill. 

See  how  it  creeps  by  the  alder-roots 
And  the  mosses  brown  and  green  ! 

See  how  in  silver  bars  it  shoots 
The  boulder-stones  between  ! 

See  how  the  fountains  of  snowy  spray, 

As  joyously  on  they  run 
Over  the  level  slabs  of  grey, 

Are  dancing  in  the  sun  ! 

I  envied  thee,  painter,  thy  artist  eye, 

As  I  looked  on  the  hollow  hill ; 
Yet  are  there  no  graces  too  softly  shy 

For  the  magic  of  thy  skill  ? 

Lo  !  wonderful  mosses  and  tiny  flowers 
Make  the  marge  of  the  streamlet  fair, 

For  it  is  not  a  grudging  hand  that  dowers 
The  glen  with  its  beauty  rare. 


PENCIL  OR  PEN.  131 

And  the  mystic  wonder  of  the  place, 

In  things  both  great  and  small, 
Is  the  witchery  of  exquisite  grace 

That  crowns  and  perfects  all. 

And  while  thou,  O  artist,  the  great  things  seest, 

And  the  splendour,  as  'tis  meet, 
I  may  turn  my  freer  gaze  to  feast 

On  the  small  grace  at  my  feet. 

The  Pimpernel  twines  its  tender  thread 

'Mid  the  mosses  green  and  wet, 
And  the  Sundew  nestles  in  russet  bed 

With  its  glistening  coronet. 

The  Wild-thyme  curves  out  its  fretted  spray, 

And  many  a  cushion  swells 
Of  the  Ivy-leafed  Campanula 

With  its  thousand  fairy  bells. 

Then  the  magic  pencil  I'll  crave  no  more, 

But  Til  wield  my  uncouth  pen, 
And  the  mosses  and  flowers  shall  bring  their  store 

For  the  solace  of  weary  men. 

And  the  care-worn  toiler  in  dusty  ways 

The  things  that  I  see  shall  see, 
And  shall  sing  to  the  Giver  his  song  of  praise, 

As  he  shares  my  joy  with  me. 

(18S3.) 


132  POETRY  AND  THE  POOR. 


IPoetrs  anb  tbe  ipoor. 


1  The  world  is  very  beautiful ! '  I  said, 
As  yesterday,  beside  the  brimming  stream,* 
Glad  and  alone,  I  watched  the  tremulous  gleam 
Slant  thro'  the  wintry  wood,  green  carpeted 
With  moss  and  fern  and  curving  bramble-spray, 
And  bronze  the  thousand  russet  margin-reeds, 
And  in  the  sparkling  holly  glint  and  play, 
And  kindle  all  the  briar's  flaming  seeds. 

1  The  world  is  very  horrible  ! '  I  sigh, 
As,  in  my  wonted  ways,  to-day  I  thread 
Chill  streets,  deformed  with  dim  monotony, 
Hiding  strange  mysteries  of  unknown  dread, — 
The  reeking  court,  the  breathless  fever-den, 
The  haunts  where  things  unholy  throng  and  brood  ; 
Grim  crime,  the  fierce  despair  of  strong-armed  men, 
Child-infamy,  and  shameless  womanhood. 

*  By  the  river  below  the  Churchyard  at  Salwarpe,  Worcester- 
shire. 


POETRY  AND  THE  POOR.  133 

And  men  have  looked  upon  this  piteous  thing — 
Blank  lives  unvisited  by  beauty's  spell — 
And  said,  ■  Let  be  :  it  is  not  meet  to  bring 
1  Dreams  of  sweet  freedom  to  the  prison-cell. 
1  Sing  them  no  songs  of  things  all  bright  and  fair, 
'  Paint  them  no  visions  of  the  glad  and  free, 
'  Lest  with  purged  sight  their  miseries  they  see, 
*  And,  thro'  vain  longings,  pass  to  black  despair.' 

O  brother,  treading  ever-darkening  ways, 
O  sister,  whelmed  in  ever-deepening  care, 
Would  God  we  might  unfold  before  your  gaze 
Some  vision  of  the  pure,  and  true,  and  fair ! 
Better  to  know,  tho'  sadder  things  be  known, 
Better  to  see,  tho'  tears  half  blind  the  sight, 
Than  thraldom  to  the  sense,  and  heart  of  stone, 
And  horrible  contentment  with  the  night. 

Oh  !  bring  we  then  all  sweet  and  gracious  things 
To  touch  the  lives  that  lie  so  chill  and  drear, 
That  they  may  dream  of  some  diviner  sphere, 
Whence  each  soft  ray  of  love  and  beauty  springs. 
Each  good  and  perfect  gift  is  from  above  ; 
And  there  is  healing  for  Earth's  direst  woes ; 
God  hath  unsealed  the  springs  of  light  and  love, 
To  make  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose. 

(1883.) 


34  THE  BLIND  AND  THE  DEAF. 


Ubc  Blfnb  anfc  tbe  Beat 


I  marked  a  blind  man,  at  the  pulsing  hush 
Of  thousand-voiced  low-breathing  harmony, 
Illumined  with  deep  rapture's  eager  flush, 
And  all  forgetful  that  he  could  not  see. 

I  marked  a  deaf  man  gaze  with  tranced  awe 

On  sunset  skies  with  God's  own  splendour  crowned, 

All  lost  in  marvel  at  the  things  he  saw, 

And  all  forgetful  that  he  heard  no  sound. 

The  blind  man  saw  in  vision,  as  he  heard, 
Sights  that  to  seeing  eyes  are  veiled  and  dim  : 
The  deaf  man,  as  he  gazed,  caught  many  a  word 
Of  love  and  gladness  whispered  but  to  him. 

So  God  for  each  had  compensation  meet, 
Rounding  to  fulness  either  narrowed  sphere  : — ■ 
But  what  when,  gathered  at  the  Healer's  feet, 
The  blind  wake  up  to  see,  the  deaf  to  hear ! 

(1884.) 


MY  CLERGY.  135 


/I&S  Clergy 


l* Christ  pleased  not  Himself;"  the  Master's  lore, 
Bowed  at  His  feet,  full  well  the  servant  learnt; 
For  in  his  breast  a  strong  pure  love  there  burnt, 
That  for  unlovely  souls  but  glowed  the  more. 
Full  many  a  wounded  lamb  he  homeward  bore, 
As  all  night  long  he  paced  the  desolate  street, 
Winning,  with  love  most  patient,  far-strayed  feet 
From  the  dark  paths  that  they  had  known  before. 
Keen-eyed  to  judge,  in  action  quick  and  sure, 
No  trumpet-blower,  scorning  all  display, 
Of  simple  life,  a  brother  of  the  poor ; 
Yet  had  he  genial  mood  and  store  of  mirth, 
And  all  the  poor  lads  loved  his  kindly  sway, 
And  knew  they  had  one  friend  upon  the  earth. 


136  MY  CLERGY. 


II. 


From  house  to  house  on  pastoral  mission  bound, 
Or  duly  to  God's  temple  day  by  day, 
With  hurrying  step  he  passes  on  his  way, 
Ever  in  duty's  lowly  pathway  found. 
Scant  leisure  wins  he  from  the  ceaseless  round 
Of  varied  service — now  by  sick  men's  bed, 
Now  'mid  the  little  ones — well  skilled  to  shed 
The  light  which  makes  this  dark  earth  hallowed 

ground. 
No  ruffled  brow  the  vain  intruder  meets, 
Smiling  he  gives  the  time  he  holds  so  dear, 
And  those  he  gives  to  know  not  that  he  gives. 
With  kindly  cheer  both  rich  and  poor  he  greets ; 
And  on  that  open  brow  'tis  written  clear, 
That  for  his  God  and  for  his  flock  he  lives. 


MY  CLERGY.  137 


III. 

Of  joyous  eloquence  in  word  and  mien, 
Whether  with  kindling  eye  and  ringing  voice 
Telling  the  news  which  bids  the  soul  rejoice, 
Or  with  bright  pleasantry  in  homelier  scene 
Seeking  the  toiler  from  his  care  to  wean : 
No  thrice  told  toils  his  gladsome  spirit  broke  ; 
For  simple  love  of  our  poor  Eastern  folk 
Deep-rooted  in  his  heart  of  hearts  had  been. 
He  was  no  stern  ecclesiastic,  bound 
In  iron  rules,  but  held  there  still  to  be 
In  alien  modes  some  virtue  to  be  found  : 
Yet  for  his  Church  he  wrought  with  voice  and  pen, 
Blending  old  order  with  new  liberty, 
And  asking  for  reward  but  souls  of  men. 


1 38  MY  CLERGY. 


IV. 


Like  some  tall  rock  that  cleaves  the  headlong  might 
Of  turgid  waves  in  full  flood  onward  borne, 
So  stood  he,  fronting  all  the  rage  and  scorn, 
And  calmly  waiting  the  unequal  fight. 
He  fashioned  his  ideal — stately  rite, 
High  ceremonial,  shadowing  mystic  lore; 
The  Cross  on  high  before  the  world  he  bore, 
Yet  lived  to  serve  the  lowliest  day  and  night. 
He  could  not  take  offence :  men  held  him  cold  ; 
Yet  was  his  heart  not  cold,  but  strongly  just, 
And  full  of  Christ-like  love  for  young  and  old. 
They  knew  at  last,  and  tardy  homage  gave ; 
They  crowned  him  with  a  people's  crown  of  trust ; 
And  strong  men  sobbed  in  thousands  at  his  grave. 


MY  CLERGY.  139 


V. 

The  genial  friend,  the  ever-welcome  guest, 
Of  keenly-flashing  wit  and  strenuous  mien, 
With  home  ancestral  in  the  woodlands  green 
Courting  to  rural  joys  and  leisured  rest ; 
Yet  this  the  dwelling-place  he  chose  as  best, 
Where  all  the  wild  sea-life  of  many  a  coast 
Flings  on  our  river-marge  its  motley  host 
To  swell  the  surge  of  sin  and  strife  unblest. 
What  though  from  land  to  land  he  loves  to  roam 
Keen-eyed  and  eager-hearted  as  a  boy, 
Yet  evermore  his  heart  is  in  his  home ; 
And  there  he  rules  with  strong  but  gracious  sway, 
And  sad  men  catch  the  infection  of  his  joy 
As  cheery- voiced  he  greets  them  on  their  way. 


4o  MY  CLERGY. 


VI. 

His  love  held  all  the  world  in  its  embrace : 

He  was  a  man  j  and  nought  that  toucheth  men 

His  human  heart  e'er  counted  alien, 

Some  germ  of  good  in  each  one  skilled  to  trace. 

'Mid  sordid  homes  he  fixed  his  dwelling-place, 

And  there,  with  her  whose  wide  heart  beat  to  share 

His  every  well-planned  scheme  and  generous  care, 

He  lived  to  soothe  the  sad  and  raise  the  base. 

The  old  paths  hold  him  not :  nor  Church  nor  Creed 

Bars  the  on-rushing  flood  of  woe  and  wrong ; 

There  must  be  ventures  in  this  hour  of  need  : 

Like  Orpheus  to  the  nether  shades  forlorn, 

He  will  go  down  in  love  (for  love  is  strong) 

And  lead  them  out  into  the  light  of  morn. 


MY  CLERGY.  141 


VII. 

Sunlight  was  round  about  him  everywhere  : 
He  left  his  sylvan  home  and  soft  repose 
To  toil  'mid  lives  unblest  and  graceless  woes, 
And  with  him  a  strange  spell  of  joy  he  bare. 
The  rough  men  greeted  as  he  passed  them  there, 
And  children  put  their  little  hands  in  his, 
Or  held  wan  wistful  faces  up  to  kiss, 
And  careworn  women  smiled  away  their  care. 
Brave-hearted  went  he  forth,  in  manly  cheer, 
Smiling  his  bright  smile  on  the  lone  and  sad, 
Treading  with  free  firm  foot  the  sordid  ways  ; 
And  as  the  light  that  shone  in  him  so  clear 
Broke  forth  around  to  make  the  world  more  glad, 
He  found  his  life  one  psalm  of  ceaseless  praise. 


142  MY  CLERGY. 


VIII. 

'  We  know  no  God,'  they  cry,  '  we  cannot  know  : ' — 

Not  carnal  men,  who  dare  not  face  the  light, 

But  strong  men,  lovers  of  the  truth  and  right, 

And  inly  wroth  with  human  wrong  and  woe. 

And  ofttimes  to  their  gatherings  one  would  go, 

Full  weary,  with  his  Lord's-day  labour  o'er, 

Yet  yearning  all  their  troubles  to  explore, 

And  brave  with  manly  sympathy's  warm  glow. 

He  set  his  faith  in  midst  of  fiercest  fires, 

Daring  all  loss,  accepting  wound  and  scar, 

That  he  might  bring  souls  out  into  the  light : 

For  his  was  love  that  never  faints  or  tires, 

And  his  was  faith  that,  like  the  silver  bar, 

Comes  from  the  furnace  but  more  strong  and  bright. 


MY  CLERGY.  143 


IX. 


At  morn  he  fed  his  soul  with  Angels'  food, 
Holding  with  Heaven  high  mystic  communing, 
That  from  the  mount  some  radiance  he  might  bring 
Down  to  the  weary  earth-bound  multitude. 
At  night  among  the  reckless  throng  he  stood, 
Sharer  of  all  their  mirth  and  revels  gay, 
Yet  holding  over  all  a  watchful  sway, 
And  tempering  every  rude  ungracious  mood. 
Not  in  cheap  words  he  owned  mankind  his  kin, 
For  them  his  life,  his  all,  he  yearned  to  spend, 
That  he  their  love  and  trust  might  wholly  win, 
And  all  their  rough  ways  to  his  moulding  bend, 
Shielding  them  from  the  unholy  grasp  of  sin, 
And  owned  by  them  a  brother  and  a  friend. 

(1884.) 


144  CHARITY. 


Gbarftg* 


The  rich  man  gave  his  dole,  nor  ill-content 
To  find  his  heart  still  moved  by  human  woe : 
The  poor  man  to  his  neighbour  simply  lent 
The  scanty  savings  he  could  scarce  forego. 

The  one  passed  on,  and  asked  to  know  no  more : 
The  other's  wife  all  night,  with  pity  brave, 
That  neighbour's  dying  child  was  bending  o'er, 
And  never  deeming  it  was  much  she  gave. 

Oh  !  God  forgive  us  that  we  dare  to  ask 
Solace  of  costless  gifts  and  fruitless  sighs  ! 
Scorn  on  the  sigh  that  shuns  the  unwelcome  task, 
The  dole  that  lacks  the  salt  of  sacrifice  ! 

No  gilded  palm  the  crushing  weight  may  lift ; 
No  soothing  sigh  the  maddening  woe  may  cure : 
'Tis  Love  that  gives  its  wealth  to  every  gift ; 
111  would  the  poor  man  fare  without  the  poor. 

(1884.) 


PASCB   VERBO,  PASCE   VITA"  145 


"  pasce  Derbo,  pasce  IDitiL" 

— ST.  BERNARD. 


Lo  !  this  one  preached  with  fervent  tongue 
The  world  went  forth  to  hear; 

Upon  his  burning  words  they  hung, 

Intent,  with  ravished  ear.  • 

Like  other  lives  the  life  he  led, 
Men  spake  no  word  of  blame  : 

And  yet  unblest,  unprofited, 
The  world  went  on  the  same. 

Another  came,  and  lived,  and  wrought, 

His  heart  all  drawn  above; 
By  deeds,  and  not  by  words,  he  taught 

Self-sacrificing  love. 

No  eager  crowds  his  preaching  drew  ; 

Yet  one  by  one  they  came ; 
The  secret  of  his  power  they  knew, 

And  caught  the  sacred  flame. 


i46  "PASCE  VERBO,  PASCE  VITA." 

And  all  around,  as  morning  light 

Steals  on  with  silent  wing, 
The  world  became  more  pure  and  bright, 

And  life  a  holier  thing. 

Ah  !  Pastor,  is  thy  heart  full  sore 

At  all  this  sin  and  strife  ? 
Feed  with  the  Word,  but  oh !  far  more 

Feed  with  a  holy  life. 

(18S4.) 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  147 


Gentleman  5obn. 

A   TALE   TOLD  AT   A    VILLAGE   INN   TO  A   NATURALISTS' 
FIELD-CLUB   ON   A   WET   DAY. 

(Founded  on  fact.) 


It's  a  tale  you  want,  sirs  ?     Well,  to  be  sure,  it's  a 

right  down  nasty  day, 
And  the  quarry's  uncommon  dirty  where  them  fossils 

mostly  lay. 
But  when  they  told  me  to  meet  you,  and  show  you 

the  way  to  go, 
I  thought  I'd-  best  look  out  a  few  of  the  shells  and 

things,  you  know  : 
You  can  have  them  up  at  my  cottage  ;  there's  a  tidy 

lot,  I  think  j 
You  can  give  the  men  at  the  quarry  just  a  shilling  or 

two  for  drink. 
P'raps  you'll  be  coming  again,  sirs ;  I  should  like  to 

take  you  round, 
And  we'd  have  a  look  at  the  shale  stuff  where  them 

butterflies  are  found ; 


148  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

Of  course  I  know  that's  not  what  they  are ;  it's  the 

name  they  call  them  by  ; 
They  were  telling  me  they're  the  ancientest  things 

that  ever  lived,  well  nigh  j 
You'll  know  all  about  'em,  sirs,  no  doubt.     I  ask  your 

pardon,  though, 
You're  wanting  to  hear  some  sort  of  a  tale  to  while 

the  time,  I  know. 
Well,  I'm  taken  rather  aback,  sirs,  like  a  parson  the 

other  day, 
A  stranger  that  came  to  our  church  ;  he's  a  friend  of 

the  squire's,  they  say  : 
Well,  our  parson  was  took  right  poorly  in  the  middle 

of  a  prayer, 
So  he  sends  and  asks  the  stranger  to  preach  to  us, 

then  and  there  : 
So  he  ups  and  gets  in  the  pulpit,  and  gives  out  a 

decent  text ; 
Then  he  hums  and  haws  and  stammers  till  you  wonder 

what  he'll  do  next. 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  I 

could  do  as  well, 
It's  a  curious  sort  of  a  parson  that's  got  no  tale  to 

tell. 
And  now  you  ask  for  a  story,  I'm  taken  aback,  you 

see, 
And  maybe  the  stranger  parson  could  do  it  better 

than  me. 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  149 

I    haven't   been   foreman    here,    sirs,    not    much 

above  a  year  j 
It  was  my  wife  that  brought  me,  she  was  born  and 

bred  up  here ; 
So  I  don't  know  much  of  the  old  world  things  the 

folk  about  might  know  j 
And  somehow  one  doesn't  hear  such  now,  as  one 

used  to  long  ago. 
^We're  getting  desperate  new,  sirs,  now  there's  such  a 

lot  of  schools  j 
And  the  young  ones,  with  their  learning,  they  count 

us  old  ones  fools. 
Why,  there's  lots  of  words  where  I  was  bred  one  used 

to  hear  men  speak, 
That  now-a-days  they  don't  understand  any  more  than 

if  'twere  Greek. 
I  was  down  there  just  at  Christmas-time,  but  I  scarcely 

knew  the  place, 
They've  got  a  railway  station  now,  and  the  church 

clock's  got  a  new  face, 
And  the  old  pews  in  the  church  all  gone,  and  the  old 

stocks  on  the  green  j 
It's  all  right,  I  dare  say,  but  dear !  what  changes  I 

have  seen  ! 
Them  Christmas  carols  too — no  doubt  they  were  some- 
thing old  and  queer, — 
1  Three  ships  came   sailing  on  the  sea,'  and    '  The 

running  of  the  deer,' — 


ISO  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

Why,  I  used  to  sing  them  once  myself;  well,  they're 

gone  with  all  the  rest : 
The  parson's  taught  them  new  ones,  but  I  liked  the 

old  ones  best. 

I'm  '  something  slow  at  starting,'  you  say  ?    Well,  I 

won't  deny  it's  true  ; 
But  I'm  thinking  and  thinking  all  the  time  what  tale 

I  can  find  for  you. 
Well,  p'raps  it's  as  good  as  another : — so,  gentlemen, 

if  you  please, 
I'll  tell  you  a  bit  of  a  story  that  happened  over  the 

seas. 
It's  nothing  to  do  with  hereabouts,  nor  with  days  of 

long  ago, 
If  there  arn't  much  in  it,  you'll  please  excuse,   but 

I'll  tell  you  what  I  know. 
I've  had  a  roving  life,  you  see,  and  some  few  years 

gone  by 
We  thought  we'd  go  to  America  our  fortune  there  to  try. 
We'd  got  a  cousin  there  doing  well,  and  so  it  came 

to  pass, 
We  sold  what  bits  we  had,  and  away  we  sailed  with 

our  little  lass. 
Well,  we  didn't  make  our  fortune,  but  that's  neither 

here  nor  there ; 
We  went   to   some  mining  works   far  West,  and   a 

roughish  lot  we  were. 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  151 

I  might  have  done  better  in  time  no  doubt,  but  I 

wasn't  content  to  stay  ; 
It  was  no  fit  place  for  the  missis,  nor  yet  for  our  little 

May. 
They  were  godless  rowdy  chaps,  and  they'd  drink, 

and  fight,  and  curse  ; — 
I  arn't  so  very  particular,  but  I  knew  they  made  me 

worse. 

One    day   there   came   to   our    quarries    a   fellow 

seeking  a  job ; 
Not  like  the  rest  of  our  chaps  a  bit — he  looked  a  sort 

of  a  nob ; 
Tall,  good-looking  enough,  with  his  clothes  well-made 

but  worn ; 
But  his  hands  they  were  soft  and  white  as  a  girl's, — 

he  wasn't  to  labour  born. 
He  was  very  quiet  and  silent,  we  chaps  all  called  him 

high; 
Well,  p'rhaps  he  was,  and  p'rhaps  he  wasn't;  you'll 

know  more  bye-and-bye. 
They  gave  him  work,  and  at  it  he  went,  and  blistered 

his  hands  with  the  pick ; 
He  worked  as  if  he  was  paid  by  the  piece, — there  was 

none  of  us  worked  so  quick. 
Of  course  we  didn't  best  like  it,  but  he  wasn't  one  to  ask 
Leave  of  another  man,  you  see,  when  he'd  set  his 

mind  to  a  task. 


152  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

He  got  some  rough  words,  you  may  be  sure,  from  the 

chaps  he  worked  among, 
But  they  never  could  get  his  blood  up,   tho'  they 

didn't  oil  the  tongue  : 
Till  one  day  one  of  them  says  to  his  mate,  'When  a 

fellow  never  speaks, 
1  It's  my  belief  as  he's  robbed  a  bank,  and  run  away 

from  the  beaks.' 
Then  you  should  have  seen  the  flash  in  his  eye,  and 

his  cheeks  in  a  burning  glow, 
And  down  with  the  pick,  and  up  with  his  fist,  and  he 

floors  him  with  just  one  blow ; 
Then  back  to  his  work  as  if  nothing  had  passed,  and 

the  chaps  all  looking  on  ; — 
But  somehow  after  that  day  it  was  he  got  nicknamed 

1  Gentleman  John.' 
They  got  to  like  him  middling  at  last,  for  they  soon 

began  to  learn, 
Give  him  a  chance,  and  he'd  always  do  a  fellow  a 

kindly  turn. 
He  lived  out  a  bit  beyond  us,  and  passed  by  every 

day, 
But  he  never  passed  without  a  smile  and  a  word  for 

our  little  May. 
Sometimes,  when  he'd  see  her  out  of  doors,  he'd  give 

a  turn  to  his  hand, 
Ever  so  slight,  but  the  little  lass  (bless  her !)  she'd 

understand ; 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  153 

And  she'd  slip  her  little  hand  in  his,  and  trot  along 

by  his  side, — 
He  never  said  much  to  her,  I  think,  but  the  child 

was  satisfied. 
And  when  he  got  to  his  door  he'd  stoop,  and  just  say, 

'Goodbye,  May,' 
And  give  her  a  kiss  on  her  forehead,  and  send  her 

skipping  away. 

A  sweet  little  thing  our  May  is,  with  soft  brown 

hair,  and  blue-eyed, 
Tho'  I  that  shouldn't  say  it ; — you'll  pardon  a  father's 

pride : 
I  am  a  bit  foolish  about  her,  I  know ;  well,  gentlemen, 

let  that  pass ; 
But  somehow  I  think  I  never  saw  a  bonnier  little  lass. 
She's  a  way  of  smiling  all  over  like,  with  eyes  and 

mouth  and  chin, — 
But,  bless  me,  sirs,  I  can  never  stop  if  on  this  tack  I 

begin. 

Well,  months  went  on,  and  then  for  two  days  no 

Gentleman  John  came  by; 
The   missus   wondered,   and  as   for    the   child,    she 

looked  like  going  to  cry  j 
So  the  second  evening  I  just  stepped  on  to  see  what 

I  could  learn, — 
1  Down  with  the  fever,'  was  what  they  said,  ■  and  a 

terrible  nasty  turn.' 


154  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

When  I  came  back,  my  wife  got  up,  and  looked  at 

me  as  she  stood, — 
I  know  that  look ;  it  means  to  say  as  arguing's  no 

good  — 
'  I  must  go  and  nurse  him,'  was  all  she  said,  and  I 

didn't  say  her  nay, 
And  she  went  that  night,  and  we  were  left — that's  me 

and  little  May. 

My  wife  (God  bless  her !)  I  often  said  as  she  was 

born  a  nurse, 
(If  ever  you  gentlemen's  taken  bad,  may  you  never 

have  a  worse  !) 
The  way  she'd  go  about  the  room,  so  gentle  and 

smiling  and  bright, 
Noticing  every  little  thing,  and  putting  all  tidy  and  right ! 
And  she'd  sit  with  her  work  beside  the  bed,  waiting 

till  you  would  stir, — 
Why  there's  children  there  as  would  only  take  their 

physic-stuff  from  her. 
That  woman  where  John  was  lodging,  she  never  could 

keep  awake 
To  give  you  your  physic,  nor  notice  when  the  pillows 

wanted  a  shake ; 
One  time  she'd  seem  to  forget  you,  and  another  she'd 

give  you  no  peace, 
And  she'd  smoke  the  milk  in  the  pudding,  and  bring 

up  the  broth  all  grease. 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  155 

Well-meaning,  no  doubt ;  but  what  of  that  ?     There's 

well-meaning  folks  I've  known 
That  had  better  learn  to  do  something  well,  and  let 

well-meaning  alone. 
No,  sirs,  my  wife  was  right,  I  say ;  she  knew  what  her 

conscience  bid : 
She  said  as  she'd  go  and  nurse  him, — and  go  and 

nurse  him  she  did. 

The  child  she  fretted  a  bit  at  first,  and  seemed  like 

quite  subdued, 
Her  singing  and  laughing  was  stopped,  and  she  scarce 

could  take  to  her  food  : 
And  the  sort  of  scare  that  was  in  her  eye  (she'd  no 

need  to  use  her  tongue) 
When  I  came  home  with   the  latest  news — it  was 

curious  in  one  so  young. 
I  always  went  of  an  evening,  after  my  work  was  done, 
And  my  wife  she'd  come  to  a  window,  and  tell  me 

how  things  went  on ; 
And  when  she  couldn't  leave  him,   or  was  resting 

tired  out  quite, 
A  Bible  put  up  in  the  window  would  tell  me  that  all 

was  right 
He  moidered  and  rambled  off  and  on  for  six  weeks 

night  and  day ; 
But  one  thing  we  couldn't  understand — he  was  always 

calling  May  : 


156  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

And  now  he'd  call  her  his  sweetheart,  and  now  his 

darling  wife, — 
We  couldn't  help  laughing  a  bit,  you  know,  tho'  he 

hung  betwixt  death  and  life. 
We   said  not  a  word  to  May,  for  indeed  we  were 

something  vexed, 
It  seemed  so  silly,  and  what  to  think  of  it  all  we  were 

right  perplexed. 
Well,  at  last  one  day  he  fell  asleep,  and  slept  like  a 

little  child  ; 
And  when   he  woke  he'd  come  to  himself,  and  he 

looked  at  my  wife  and  smiled ; 
And  he  asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  and  what 

had  made  him  so  weak, 
And  she  told  him  about  his  illness,  but  she  wouldn't 

let  him  speak ; 
Not  then  at  least ;  but  after  a  while,  when  he  seemed 

to  mend  a  bit, 
She  fancied  he'd  something  on  his  mind,   tho'   he 

never  hinted  it. 
But  one  fine  day  he'd  been  lying  still,  when  he  asked 

her  sudden  and  quick, 
1  Did  I  talk  any  nonsense,  missus,  when  I  was  lying 

sick?' 
So  she  laughed,  and  told  him  of  course  he'd  talked 

some  little  foolish  and  wild, 
As  they  mostly  do  in  the  fever,  and  how  he'd  been 

calling  the  child. 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  157 

So  he  lay  a  little  silent,  and  then  says,  ■  Missus,  some 

day 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  but  it  wasn't  your  little  May.' 

She  learnt  it  by  little  and  little ;  for  he  told  her 

as  he  could  ; 
He  liked  to  talk  about  all  the  past,  and  he  said  it 

did  him  good. 
And  my  wife,  I  know  how  she'd  sit  there,  speaking 

scarcely  a  word, 
But  looking  as  if  it  were  all  her  own — the  trouble, 

I  mean,  she  heard. 
Somehow  men  liked  to  tell  her  their  bits  of  troubles 

and  scares ; 
She'd  mostly  find  them  some  comfort  to  drive  away 

their  cares. 
Well,  the  story  was  sad  enough,  sirs,  as  you'll  hear 

before  it's  done ; 
May,  you  see,  was  the  parson's  daughter,  and  he  was 

the  squire's  son. 
I  thought  he'd  a  bit  of  breeding,  and  I  said  so  all 

along, 
Tho'  I  blame  the  fellow,  and  so  did  my  wife,  and 

she  told  him  he'd  done  wrong. 
1  Why,  what  had  he  done  ?  '     Beg  pardon,  sirs,  I  was 

letting  my  thoughts  run  on  ; 
I  suppose  he  was  a  bit  headstrong  and  proud;— but 

all  that's  past  and  gone. 


158  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

You  see,  sirs,  telling  a  story's  like  driving  out  here 

from  the  town, 
Sometimes  you'll  be  going  up  hill,  and  sometimes 

you'll  be  going  down. 
Well,  they'd  played  together  as  boy  and  girl,  and  he 

showed  my  missus  one  day 
A  picture  he'd  got  of  her  as  a  child — it  was  desperate 

like  our  May. 
But  it  wasn't  till  John  was  growing  up,  leastwise  no 

more  a  boy, 
And  May  was  as  bright  as  a  summer  morning,  but 

getting  a  little  coy, 
When  her  brother  brought  a  young  college  chap  to 

spend  a  week  or  two, 
A  nice  young  fellow  enough,  John  said,  but  till  then 

he  never  khew 
He  cared  so  much  for  the  girl ;  but  now  he  found 

that  he  couldn't  'bide 
That  another  fellow  was  all  day  long  a  dangling  at 

her  side ; 
While  he  that  met  them  just  now  and  then  could 

see,  tho'  she  was  but  a  child, 
He  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love,  and  it  almost 

drove  him  wild. 
The  parson,  he  was  a  busy  man,  and  had  other  things 

in  hand, 
And  the  parson's  wife  wasn't  over  strong,  so  the  young 

ones  took  command ; 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  159 

They  planned  all  sorts  of  frolics,  and  John  was  asked 

to  come, 
But  he  couldn't  stand  it,  and  made  excuse  that  he'd 

things  to  do  at  home. 
At  last  the  young  fellow  went  away,  and  John  and 

May  they  met, 
It  was  on  the  pathway  thro'  the  fields, — he  was  out 

of  sorts  like  yet, 
And  was  brooding  and  thinking  and  wondering,  as 

he  leant  his  arms  on  the  stile, 
When  May  came  up  on  a  sudden  : — she  always  used 

to  smile, 
But  now  she  looked  grave,  as  she  asked  him,  speaking 

hurried  and  low, 
What  had  been  the  matter  that  he  should  have  treated 

them  so  ? 
'  Why,  May,  you  didn't  care  ? '  he  said,  but  she  only 

answered  '  John  ! ' 
And  ran  down  the  path  like  a  wild  thing,  and  left  him 

brooding  on. 
But  somehow  she  gave  him  just  one  look,  as  she  said 

the  word  and  went, 
It  might  have  been  nothing,  he  said  to  himself,  but 

it  made  him  more  content. 

Well,  they  didn't  see  much  of  each  other  for  two 
or  three  years  from  then ; 
He  was  sent  to  travel  in  foreign  parts  with  a  couple 
of  other  men. 


160  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

But  when  they  met,  tho'  he  didn't  speak,  in  his  secret 

heart  he  knew 
He  loved  her  better  and  better,  and  he  fancied  she 

knew  it  too. 
He  was  the  second  son,  was  John  ;  the  brother  was 

seldom  there, 
He  was  a  good  bit  older,  and  of  course  was  the  son 

and  heir ; 
Something  wild,  I  fancy,  from  what  the  other  let  fall : 
But  anyhow  it  seems  he  didn't  get  on  with  his  father 

at  all. 

Now  the  squire  had  got  a  scheme  in  his  head, 

which  he  thought  of  early  and  late, 
That  John  should  marry  a  girl  they  knew  that  would 

come  to  a  big  estate  : 
There  was  nothing  amiss  in  the  girl,  John  said  ;  she 

could  sing,  and  dance,  and  ride  : 
She  was  all  very  well  to  be  friends  with, — but  May 

was  his  joy  and  pride. 
At  last  one  evening  his  father  the  squire — a  silentish 

sort  of  man — 
He  took  him  aside,  and  then  in  a  nervous  hasty  way 

began  : — 
It  was  time,  he  said,  he  should  settle,  high  time ;  and 

why  should  he  wait  and  wait, 
When  a  girl  was  ready  to  have  him  who  would  come 

to  a  fine  estate  ? 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  161 

A  girl  he  liked  too,  sensible,  it  wasn't  a  chance  to  lose  ; 
If  he  ever  should  have  a  daughter,  she  was  just  the 

sort  he'd  choose ; 
He'd  make  him  a  good  allowance  : — but  John,  dumb- 
foundered  you  see 
At  first,  broke  in,  and  told  him   plain  out  that  it 

couldn't  be ; 
He  was  vexed  to  go  against  him,  but  what  could  he 

do  or  say  ? 
For,  if  ever  he  married,  he'd  marry  no  other  girl  but 

May. 
Then  his  father's  brow  grew  black,  and   the  storm 

broke  fierce  and  fast, 
And  bitter  words  were  spoken,  that  left  their  sting 

as  they  passed ; 
And  John,  he  made  up  his  mind  he  would  go  and 

fi_ht  his  way, 
For,  come  what  would,  he  would  marry  no  other  girl 

but  May. 

Weil,  just  as  he  left  his  father,  all  hot  and  trembling 

still, 
Who  should  he  meet  but  May,  on  the  pathway  up 

the  hill. 
How  could  he  help  it  ?     He  told  her  all ;  and  there 

in  the  evening  light, 
They  promised  to  wait  for  each  other,  happen  what 

happen  might 


i62  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

And  now,  sirs,  comes  the  wrong  of  it  all,  for  it  hap- 
pened May  was  sent 
To  stay  with  some  friends  near  Liverpool,  and  there 

it  was  John  went 
To  settle  his  plans  for  crossing  the  sea,  and  somehow 

it  came  about 
That  he  got  her  to  marry  him  secretly  the  day  before 

he  went  out. 
They  met  at  the  church,  and  they  parted  there,  and 

as  he  went  away, 
He  gave  her  one  kiss  on  the  forehead,  and  just  said, 

*  Good-bye,  May.' 
It  was  selfish  of  him  to  do  such  a  thing.     Dear  me  ! 

and  we  little  guess 
What  a  heap  of  trouble  and  sorrow  may  come  from 

a  little  selfishness  ! 
He    showed    my   wife    the    wedding-ring,    and   the 

marriage-lines  as  well : 
She  didn't  take  notice,  she  said,  and  so  the  name  she 

never  could  tell. 
It  seems  they'd  come  to  some  sort  of  terms,  for  he'd 

promised  his  father  that  he 
Would  send  neither  message  nor  line  to  the  girl  for 

two  years  from  over  the  sea. 
It's  curious  how  we  can  take  ourselves  in : — he  was 

mainly  honest  and  true, — 
But  to  promise  he  wouldn't  write  to  the  girl,  and  then 

such  a  thing  to  do ! 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  163 


He  wasn't  at  ease  in  his  mind,  no  doubt,  and  that 

made  him  silent  and  glum  : 
And  it's  my  belief,  when  a  fellow's  done  wrong,  the 

punishment's  sure  to  come. 
He  vexed  himself  too  at  getting  no  news,  waiting  from 

fall  to  fall ; 
And  as  he  durstn't  tell  the  truth,  he  wouldn't  write 

home  at  all. 
My    wife,   she   pleaded  again   and   again,    when   she 

found  he  was  getting  strong, 
He  should  just  go  back,  and  confess  to  all,  and  try 

and  undo  the  wrong. 
She  spoke  to  him  straight  and  open,  and  told  him 

his  sin  was  pride ; 
He  should  humble  himself  to  his  father ; — but  any- 
how there  was  his  bride  : 
She  didn't  pretend  to  be  learned,   but  somehow  it 

seemed  to  her  plain 
His  duty  was  just  to  take  ship,  and  go  back  to  Eng- 
land again. 
Well,  John,  poor  fellow,  he  listened,  and  it  came  to 

him  more  and  more 
That  she  was  advising  him  right,  tho'  it  made  him 

sad  and  sore ; 
For  he'd  hoped  to  get  on  and  make  money,  and  his 

luck  was  bad  from  the  first, 
And  now,  with  his   months  of  illness,  why,  matters 

had  come  to  the  worst. 


164  GENTLEMAN  JOHN. 

He  wasn't  over-strong  yet,  you  see  ;  and  he'd  money 

enough  to  go ; 
And  the  two  years  were  all  but  over ;  and  at  last  it 

was  settled  so. 
The  child  was  half  broken-hearted,  and  the  mother 

about  the  same, — 
You  see  we'd  been  fond  of  the  fellow  ever  since  he  came. 
He  was  gentler  after  his  illness  too,  and,  when  all 

alone  with  my  wife, 
He'd  talk  quite  grave,  and  be  making  schemes  for  a 

better  sort  of  a  life. 
And  she'd  often  say,  when  we  talked  of  him,  in  her 

quiet  sort  of  a  way, 
That's  a  man  that,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  do  right  good 

work  some  day. 

Well,   gentlemen,   I   must  close   my  tale,   for  it's 

brighter  overhead, 
And  the  rain  has  stopped,  and  I  think  there'll  be  time 

to  look  at  the  fossil-bed. 
There  isn't  much  more  to  tell : — Poor  John  !  he  took 

his  passage  across 
In  the  Ocean  King ;  you  can't  have  forgot  the  story 

of  her  loss  ? 
She  was  never  heard  of  more,  you  know,  nor  any 

soul  on  board ; 
Bits  of  wreckage  and  floating  spars  was  all  the  sea 

restored. 


GENTLEMAN  JOHN.  165 

There  was  many  a  tear  for  others ;  but  it's  only  us 
that  knew 

That  John  had  sailed  in  that  vessel  with  all  its  luck- 
less crew. 

I  haven't  got  much  to  spare,  sirs,  but  I'd  give  five 
pounds  to-day 

If  I  could  only  get  tidings  of  that  poor  young  widowed 
May. 

(1884.) 


1 66  FROM  NATURE  TO  MAN. 


ffrom  mature  to  fl&an.' 


Time  was  when  Nature's  every  mystic  mood 
Poured  round  my  heart  a  flood  of  eager  joy ; 
When  pageantry  of  sunsets  moved  the  boy 
More  than  high  ventures  of  the  great  and  good ; 
When  trellised  shadows  in  the  vernal  wood, 
And  little  peeping  flowers,  so  sweet  and  coy, 
Were  simple  happiness  without  alloy, 
And  whispered  to  me  things  I  understood. 
But  now  the  strange  sad  weight  of  human  woe, 
And  all  the  bitterness  of  human  wrong, 
Press  on  my  saddened  spirit  as  I  go, 
And  stir  the  pulsings  of  a  graver  song  : 
Dread  mysteries  of  life  and  death  I  scan, 
And  all  my  soul  is  only  full  of  Man. 

(1885.) 
*  See  "  Shelsley  Beauchamp,"  p.  52. 


UNIVERSITY  SETTLEMENTS.  167 


"  University  Settlements "  In  Bast 
Xonfcon* 


They  come  brave-hearted  from  high  learning's  seat, 

With  wealth  of  Art  and  Culture's  gracious  lore, 

To  offer,  with  free  welcome,  of  their  store 

To  weary  toilers  in  the  dismal  street 

'These  homes,'  they  cry,  'we  will  make  bright  and 

sweet, 
1  Into  these  empty  lives  our  fulness  pour ; 
'  Perchance  where  love  and  beauty  go  before 
'  Some  path  may  open  for  an  Angel's  feet' 
Yet  wear)-  souls  scarce  lift  a  listless  eye 
To  scan  the  proffered  boon,  and  so  pass  by. 
Ah  !  what  if  Angel  feet  best  lead  the  way, 
And  thoughts  of  God  wake  men  as  from  the  dead, 
Dreams  of  new  beauty  visit  souls  that  pray, 
And  Art  but  follow  whither  Faith  hath  led  ? 

(1885.) 


1 68     EAST  LONDON  CHILDREN'S  HOSPITAL. 


ZTbe  JEast  Xonfcon  Gbilfcren's  IbospttaL 


Have  we  seen  them  tattered  and  mire-defiled 
On  the  door-steps  at  their  play  ? 

Have  we  heard  their  voices  so  shrill  and  wild 
'Mid  the  roar  of  the  thronging  way  ? 

Are  they  the  same — so  quiet  and  pale 

In  their  cots  of  snowy  white, 
Like  bells  of  Word-sorrel  tender  and  frail 

In  the  gleamy  April  light  ? 

There  are  no  rude  looks  in  those  hollow  eyes 
With  their  wistful  wondering  gaze  : 

Soft  sad  whispers  are  all  that  rise 

From  the  lips  that  have  learnt  new  ways. 

Children's  hearts  they  are  easy  to  reach, 

And  love  has  had  its  turn  ; 
And  sickness  has  holy  lessons  to  teach, 

And  the  little  ones  quickly  learn. 


EAST  LONDON  CHILDREN'S  HOSPITAL.     169 

They  might  have  been  children  of  high  degree 

And  of  proud  historic  race, 
For  God  has  made  them  as  fair  to  see, 

And  as  sweet  in  their  childish  grace. 

Ah  children  !    Ah  children  !    It  is  not  in  vain 

Ye  are  suffering  thus,  if  ye  knew ; 
For  the  world  would  be  hard  without  sorrow  and  pain, 

And  we  should  be  hard  without  you. 

(1885.) 


i7o  A   VISION  OF  BARMOUTH. 


H  IDision  of  35Sarmoutb* 


Yes,  I  saw  it;  a  sketch  in  a  window ;  and  passably  done': 
Just  a  mountain,  with  rocks,  and  dim  shadows,  and 

glintings  of  sun. 
Was  it  that,  or  a  mere  summer  longing  astir  in  my 

breast 
As  I  paced  the  hot  street,  that  has  borne  me  away  to 

the  West  ? 
It  uprises  before  me — the  well-known,  the  dearly-loved 

view, 
With  its  glories  of  form  and  its  splendours  of  shadow 

and  hue : 
I  am  there,  'mid  the  mountains  with  gorse  and  with 

heather  aglow, 
And  the  sheen  of  the  water  far  down  in  the  valley 

below, 
And  the  Lady-ferns,  red-stemmed  and  green-stemmed, 

in  densest  array, 
Half  choking  the  bright  little  runnel  that  borders  the 

way. 


A    VISION  OF  BARMOUTH. 


I  am  there,  by  the  shore :  rocks  above  me  are  purple 

and  gold, 
And  the  short  springy  turf  is  all  flower-bestrewn,  as 

of  old ; — 
Red     Geranium,    and    sweet    Lady's  -  tresses,    and 

Centaury  gay, 
Scotch-rose  with  its  great  ruddy  hips,  and   Thyme's 

delicate  spray  : 
On  the  sand-hills  'twixt  me  and  the  sea,  lo  !  the  tall 

rushes  stand, 
And  the  wind  is  still  tracing  its  rings  with  their  tips 

on  the  sand  : 
And   there  in    that  gorge,  where    the  streamlet   has 

carved  out  its  dell, 
Yellow  Poppies  beneath  the  old  Elder-tree  cluster  and 

dwell. 
And  look  how  a  pathway  of  gold,  as  the  sun  sinks  to 

rest, 
Stretches  over  to  yonder  long  line  of  fair  hills  in  the 

West. 
Ah  me  !  yet  the  spot  that  is  fairest  and  dearest  to  me 
Is  a  little  lone  grave  by  the  side  of  the  broad  shining 

sea ! 


(1885.) 


172  SERMON  NOTES. 


Sermon  Botes  in  IDerse* 


I. — Christianity. 

Text:  I  Cor.  ii.  2. 

Two  Tables  graven  with  unbending  laws, — 
Unveilings  of  the  glorious  things  to  be, — 
Deep  searchings  into  the  primaeval  Cause, — 
A  faultless  scheme  of  pure  morality  ; — 

Is  this,  O  man,  the  pearl  of  costless  price  ? 
For  this  hath  God  sent  down  the  Eternal  Son  ? 
What  meaneth  then  this  awful  Sacrifice  ? 
What  victory  is  this  that  God  hath  won  ? 

Nay,  it  is  He  Himself,  nought  else  but  He, — 

God  infinite  made  one  with  finite  Man, — 

No  creed,  no  system,  no  philosophy, — 

That  fills  my  needs  in  this  life's  straitened  span  : — 

One  of  all  joy  and  peace  the  unfailing  spring, 
My  hidden  treasure  and  my  pearl  unpriced, 
A  Heart  where  trembling  love  can  hide  and  cling, 
The  warm  and  living  touch — the  touch  of  Christ ! 


SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE.  173 


II.— Faith. 

Text:  2  Cor.  iv.  18. 

Oh,  tear  in  twain  the  gaudy  painted  veil 
This  puny  world  still  hangs  before  our  eyes  ! 
Why  scarce  discerned,  in  vision  dim  and  pale, 
The  greater  world  that  round  about  us  lies  ? 

We  want  to  see :  but  lo  !  our  eyes  are  blind 
With  gazing  on  this  lurid  earthly  glare ; 
When  we  would  lift  the  veil  and  peer  behind, 
We  cannot  trace  the  eternal  glories  there. 

Lord,  open  Thou  our  eyes  that  we  may  see ; 
Make  real  to  us,  as  our  way  we  tread, 
The  presence  that  shall  ever  with  us  be, 
The  glory  that  is  burning  overhead, 

What  though  the  cloud  be  hanging  thick  and  low 
And  glimpses  of  the  light  be  scant  and  brief, 
Oh,  shine  Thou  for  us  with  Thine  inner  glow, — 
Lord,  we  believe ;  help  thou  our  unbelief ! 


174  SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE. 


III.— Hope. 

Text:  Rom.  viii.  24. 

I  cannot  labour  if  I  may  not  hope  : 

But  what  the  hope  that  shall  my  work  inspire, 

And  give  to  all  my  life  its  nobler  scope, 

And  light  in  this  cold  heart  the  heavenly  fire  ? 

Is  it  such  vision  of  far  glorious  things 
As  I  have  pictured  when  the  dreaming  eye 
Sees  golden  cloudlets  ranged  like  Angel  wings 
O'er  the  deep  spaces  of  the  sunset  sky  ? 

Nay,  I  will  hope  a  better  hope  than  this ; — 
In  Christlike  love  and  wisdom  still  to  grow, 
Some  fault  to  mend  that  hath  been  sore  amiss, 
Some  lacking  grace  to  win,  before  I  go. 

I  hope  on  earth  some  saddened  heart  to  cheer, 
On  some  chill  life  a  ray  of  peace  to  pour, — 
Then  learn  things  greater  than  are  whispered  here, 
And  see  the  face  of  God  for  evermore. 


SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE.  175 


IV.— Love. 

Text:  St.  John  xxi.  15. 

And  dare  I  then  discourse  of  heavenly  Love, 
And  bid  men  love  the  Lord  with  all  their  heart, — 
I,  whose  faint  soul  scarce  lifts  its  gaze  above, 
Whose  chill  desires  scarce  seek  the  better  part  ? 

As  on  a  dim  horizon  we  may  deem, 

Yet  scarcely  deem,  we  saw  a  flash  of  light, 

So,  as  we  look  within,  our  love  will  seem 

Now  but  a  transient  gleam,  now  quenched  in  night. 

Ah,  loveless  hearts  !     Yet  God  Himself  is  Love  ; 
And  that  Love  burns  not  low  when  ours  is  dim  ; 
Our  scanty  measures  mete  not  things  above  ; 
He  loves  us  even  though  we  love  not  Him. 

And  Love  hath  been  unveiled  to  human  view, 
Shrined  in  the  Face  of  the  Incarnate  Word  : — 
O  God,  forgive  me  if  it  be  not  true, 
And  yet  '  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee,'  Lord. 


176  SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE. 


V. — Confession  and  Absolution. 

Text:  Ps.  xxxii.  5. 

As  the  poor  child  that  has  its  father  grieved 
Comes  weeping  back  to  own  its  little  wrong, 
Nor,  till  the  waiting  pardon  is  received, 
Dares  join  the  gladness  of  the  merry  throng  : 

So  we,  with  humble  voice  and  low-bent  knee, 
Would  seek  our  Father  in  Confession  meet, 
Still  sorrowing  till  in  deep  humility 
We  lay  our  sins  down  at  His  awful  feet ; 

Then  listening  for  the  assuring  word  of  peace, 
The  pledge  of  mercy,  and  the  stay  of  faith, — 
Ah  !  blessed  Gospel  message  of  release, 
Full  of  deep  solemn  joy  ! — '  He  pardoneth.' 

Teach  us,  O  God,  as  unto  Thee  we  turn, 
To  set  ourselves  in  Thy  all-searching  light, 
That  by  Thy  mercy  we  our  sin  may  learn, 
And  by  our  sin  may  know  Thy  mercy's  might ! 


SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE.  177 


VI. — The  Two  Natures. 

Text:  2  Cor.  xii.  2. 

I  knew  a  man — it  was  long  years  ago — 
With  glorious  visions  blest  and  saintly  dreams, 
Lit  with  a  pure  ambition's  tremulous  glow, 
Thrilled  with  high  musings  on  all  heavenly  themes. 

I  knew  a  man — strange  darkness  reigned  within  ; 
All  Love  seemed  frozen  in  him,  all  Faith  dead  ; 
Down-dragged  as  by  a  curse,  haunted  by  sin, 
By  fierce  Satanic  envoys  buffeted. 

For  this  one  all  my  soul  is  filled  with  shame  ; 
Of  that  one  I  will  glory,  glad  of  heart ; 
For,  into  my  despairings,  lo  !  there  came 
A  God-sent  hope  to  win  the  better  part. 

And,  in  this  double  self,  my  will  I  set 
To  scorn  the  ill,  to  choose  the  good  and  true. 
Ah,  Lord,  Thy  servant  strengthen  even  yet 
To  rise  out  of  the  old  into  the  new ! 

M 


178  SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE. 


VII.— The  Two  Visions. 

Text :  Isa..  vi.  5. 

Two  visions  passed  before  me  as  I  prayed : 
I  saw  the  King  the  Lord  of  hosts  unveiled, 
In  robes  of  awful  purity  arrayed  ; 
And  in  the  blinding  light  my  spirit  quailed. 

And  then  mine  eyes  fell  downward ;  and  within, 
Lit  with  the  searching  fires  that  pierced  me  through, 
I  saw  a  soul  all  stained  with  hateful  sin ; 
And  bowed  in  shame  I  shrank  back  from  the  view. 

Then,  as  once  more  I  sought  with  trembling  awe 
To  scan  the  glories  of  the  heavenly  height, 
A  Face  of  tenderest  love  methought  I  saw 
Shape  itself  out  from  that  deep  home  of  light. 

And  then  I  knew  this  double  look  could  win 
The  twofold  grace  that  lifts  the  soul  above  ; 
For  penitence  beholds  the  guilt  within, 
While  Faith  looks  out  upon  a  Saviour's  love. 


SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE.  179 


VIIL— The  Two  Worlds. 

Text:  Rom.  i.  20. 

*  Ah,  why  the  trammels  of  this  graceless  flesh, 
Cramping  the  spirit  in  her  heavenly  flight, 
Caging  her  freedom  in  the  tangled  mesh 
Of  hollow  form  and  soul-encumbering  rite  ? ' 

Nay,  peace,  poor  soul !     Nor  cherish  idle  dreams  : 
Shared  not  the  Son  of  God  a  human  birth, 
Crowning  this  dim  life  with  His  heavenly  beams, 
And  hallowing  all  the  common  things  of  earth  ? 

And  lo  !  Eternal  Wisdom,  Love  profound, 
Dowering  with  choicest  boons  the  ransomed  race, 
In  sacramental  blessedness  hath  bound 
Together  outward  sign  and  inward  grace. 

For  in  vast  counterpart  God  only-wise 
Outer  and  inner  things  alike  hath  planned, 
That  Man,  through  earthly  type,  with  undazed  eyes 
The  deeper  things  of  God  might  understand. 


180  SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE. 


IX. — The  Knowledge  of  God. 

Text:  St.  John  xvii.  3. 

To  know  God  :  this  is  life  !     And  dare  I  stand 
Blinding  these  dim  eyes  with  the  awful  light, 
And  in  the  hollow  of  this  pigmy  hand 
Thinking  to  grasp  and  hold  the  Infinite  ? 

4  We  cannot  know,'  men  cry,  'we  cannot  know: 
How  should  this  crass  and  carnal  nature  find, 
In  its  poor  restless  searchings  here  below, 
The  mystic  essence  of  the  Eternal  Mind  ? ' 

Yet  we,  who  know  not  all,  may  know  in  part : 
And,  as  we  stand  upon  the  narrow  shore, 
Yearning  to  pierce  great  Ocean's  hidden  heart, 
May  gather  many  a  gem  to  enhance  our  store. 

And  Thou,  O  Father,  hast  Thyself  made  known 
In  Him  who  once  for  us  was  sacrificed : 
O  God,  we  praise  Thee,  who  in  love  hast  shown 
Thy  glory  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ. 


SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE.  181 


X. — Our  Life  for  Others. 

Text :  2  Cor.  i.  6. 

And  hath  God  sent  thee  sorrow's  aching  blank, 
Or  keener  stab  of  bitter  human  wrong  ? 
Deem  not  the  pang  from  which  thy  spirit  shrank 
Held  but  one  grace — to  ■  suffer  and  be  strong.' 

In  trust  for  others  was  thy  sorrow  lent, 
That  in  thy  heart  a  gentler  love  might  glow, 
And  day  by  day  thy  willing  steps  be  bent 
To  carry  peace  to  shrouded  homes  of  woe. 

Each  gift  of  God  is  but  a  gracious  loan  ; 
And,  be  it  smile-enwreathed  or  sorrow-crowned, 
Oh,  send  it  (for  it  is  not  all  thine  own) 
Some  boon  to  carry  to  the  world  around. 

One  strength  thou  hast  the  Master  might  not  wield; 
Thyself  a  sinner  thou  canst  pity  sin  : 
Ah  !  let  the  love  which  hath  thy  pardon  sealed 
Some  brother-sinner  to  his  Saviour  win  ! 


1 82  SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE. 


XI. — The  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

Text :  St.  Matt.  iv.  23. 

The  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom  !     Aye,  good  news  ! 
No  selfish  creed  for  separate  soul's  content ; 
No  distant  dream  on  which  the  heart  may  muse  ; 
No  home  beyond,  when  life's  swift  sands  are  spent. 

For  lo  !  the  Kingdom  of  our  God  is  here, 
A  gracious  bond  of  common  strength  and  love, 
Filling  with  heavenly  light  this  lower  sphere, 
And  dowered  with  holy  graces  from  above. 

Glad  tidings  !     For  behold  a  kingdom  crowned 
With  righteousness  and  peace  and  joy  divine  ! 
For  thee  this  kingdom  Christ  came  down  to  found  ; 
Rise,  claim  thine  heritage,  for  it  is  thine  ! 

Ah,  blessed  they  whose  purged  eyes  discern 
Of  holy  fellowship  the  gladdening  spring, 
To  brother  men  with  love  all  Christlike  burn, 
And  in  the  kingdom  ever  find  the  King  ! 


SERMON  NOTES  IN  VERSE.  183 


XII. — Man's  Littleness  and  Greatness. 
Text :  Ps.  viii.  4. 

Among  the  myriad  stars  one  faintest  fleck 
Scarcely  with  straining  sight  could  I  descry  : — 
I  moved  the  mighty  glass  j  and  lo  !  the  speck 
Became  a  sun-bespangled  galaxy  ! 

And  is  it  given  with  awe-struck  eye  to  trace 
Fresh  universes,  star-groups,  dim  and  vast, 
Beyond  the  staggering  depths  of  trackless  space? 
And  is  this  still  the  farthest  and  the  last  ? 

Perchance  these  myriad  orbs  that  throng  the  sky, 
Flashing  their  fires  from  awful  heights  afar, 
Are  but  a  little  dust  that  whirleth  by, 
Beside  the  vastness  of  the  things  that  are. 

Lord,  what  is  Man  that  from  Thy  heavenly  throne 
Thou  condescendedst  to  his  mean  estate, 
Blending  his  very  nature  with  Thine  own  ? 
O  Man,  how  little  art  thou  !     And  how  great ! 

(1884-5.) 


1 84  ON  THE  ALPS. 


Qn  tbe  Hips* 


Up  thro'  long  sweeping  mists  of  nascent  morn, 

By  trail  of  quaint  hay-sledge,  with  patient  tread 

We  clomb  the  veiled  heights,  while  overhead, 

Thro'  gap  of  vapours  by  the  young  wind  torn, 

Visions  of  sunlit  snow  were  dimly  born. 

We  heard  the  hurtling  of  the  torrent-bed, 

The  tinkling  bells  of  kine  that  unseen  fed, 

The  bellowing  of  the  far  Alp's  strident  horn. 

So  sped  long  hours,  mid'  changeful  fears  and  hopes  ; 

Then  on  the  heights  one  infinite  surprise, 

Marvels  of  fairest  flowers  upon  the  slopes, 

And  awful  splendours  of  the  earth  and  skies. 

O  God,  a  life  not  unlike  this  I  pray  : 

Dim  fears,  calm  toil,  and  then— pure  light  of  day  ! 

(1885.) 


JUDGE  NOT.  185 


"jufcae  mot." 


I  met  a  soul  all  steeped  in  sunny  calm, 

Taking  all  love  unquestioned,  as  the  light, 

Glad  to  possess,  not  claiming  as  of  right, 

And  chanting  ever  one  long  happy  psalm. 

I  met  another  soul,  that  found  no  balm 

For  sores  of  wounded  pride  and  fancied  slight, 

Thinking  unloving  thoughts  in  love's  despite : — 

And  not  to  this  one  gave  mankind  the  palm. 

Then  came  an  Angel  with  a  measuring-rod, 

Gauging  the  hearts  of  men,  as  gaugeth  God. 

1  This  sunny  life,'  he  said,  '  hath  ventured  nought ; 

1  This  shrouded  soul  hath  suffered,  prayed,  and  fought : 

1  By  sin  resisted,  lo  !  I  measure  grace ; 

'  The  fiercest  battle  wins  the  foremost  place.' 

(1885.) 


1 86    LEADER'S  PICTURE,  "PARTING  DAY: 


©n  %eabefs  flMcture,  "  lparting*S>as/' 

LATELY    IN    THE    LOAN    COLLECTION   AT  THE   BETHNAL 
GREEN    MUSEUM. 


Was  it  only  five  minutes  ago  I  stood 

In  the  streets  of  Bethnal  Green, 
Nursing  a  weary  querulous  mood 

At  the  grim  unlovely  scene  ? 

Where  are  the  sordid  homes,  all  thronged 
With  the  sorrows  and  sins  of  earth  ? 

Where  are  the  hollow-eyed  children,  wronged 
Of  the  child's  sweet  dower  of  mirth  ? 

0  brothers  !     And  shall  they  be  always  such— 
These  homes  of  our  fatherland  ? 

But  lo  !  they  are  gone  at  the  magic  touch 
Of  a  wonder-working  hand. 

1  am  caught  away  in  the  flush  and  glow 

Of  the  soft  bright  eventide  ; 
And  here  on  the  river  the  light  gleams  low, 
And  there  the  dim  shadows  hide. 


PARTING  DAY."      187 


And  oh  !  for  the  depth  of  the  sunny  air 

That  is  flooding  the  far-drawn  sky, 
With  its  dreamy  spaces  supremely  fair 

In  their  delicate  purity  ! 

And,  marshalled  and  ranged  by  the  gracious  sway 

Of  the  zephyr's  gentle  might, 
The  cloudlets  lie  in  their  faint  array, 

Just  tinged  with  the  rosy  light. 

There  are  sunset  glories  to  crown  the  view 

On  the  far  hill-ranges  showered ; 
There  are  splendours  of  nearer  warmth  and  hue 

On  the  homestead  tree-embowered. 

O  Leader,  I  thank  thee  that,  'mid  the  rush 

Of  the  surging  thunderous  street, 
Thou  hast  woven  us  here  with  thy  magic  brush 

A  vision  so  pure  and  sweet. 

But  the  toilers,  weary  of  heart  and  limb, 

Go  by  with  their  load  of  care, 
For  the  world  is  too  dreary  and  life  too  dim 

For  dreams  of  the  sweet  and  fair. 

What  is  it  to  them  that  the  arching  West 

Is  aflame  with  the  burning  gold  ? 
What  is  it  to  them  that  the  soft  lights  rest 

On  the  crests  of  the  purpling  wold  ? 


LEADER'S  PICTURE,  "PARTING  DAY." 


Why  should  they  pause  with  unseeing  eye 

To  stare  at  the  art-clad  wall  ? 
Tis  a  painted  river  and  painted  sky, 

A  picture — and  that  is  all. 

Who  shall  teach  them  the  charm  and  the  grace 
That,  for  eyes  that  have  learnt  to  see, 

Still  gleam  so  softly  from  Nature's  face 
In  her  unstained  purity  ? 

Were  it  better,  perchance,  that  these  should  pass 

Unvexed  to  their  stifling  rooms, 
Or  seek  their  cheer  'mid  the  flaunting  gas 

And  the  tavern's  poisoned  fumes  ? 

Have  ye  ever  told  them  of  joys  more  sure, 

Of  a  life  that  is  better  worth  ? 
Have  ye  told  them  of  Him  who  loved  the  poor, 

And  lived  with  the  poor  on  earth  ? 

Have  ye  told  them  how  God  from  His  high  estate 

Looks  down  on  their  toil  and  care, 
And  that  not  alone  for  the  rich  and  great 

He  hath  made  the  world  so  fair  ? 

Have  ye  bettered  the  poor  man's  narrowed  span  ? 

Have  ye  brightened  the  way  he's  trod  ? 
Perchance,  when  he  knows  the  love  of  man, 

He  may  learn  the  love  of  God. 

(1885.) 


ENGLAND'S  PURE  HOMES.  189 


JEnslan&'s  ipute  Ibomes. 


*  The  unclean  worm  hath  eaten  to  the  core, 

And  killed  the  bud  of  Purity's  white  flower  : ' 

So  spake  the  scorner,  presaging  the  hour 

When  England's  sweet  home  life  would  be  no  more. 

Yet  many  a  home  there  lies  in  memory's  store, — 

The  rustic  cot,  the  hall  of  ample  dower, — 

Where  no  unholy  thing  dare  lurk  and  cower, 

And  lily-graces  all  their  fragrance  pour. 

Ah,  happy  homes !  where  chivalry  disdains 

To  wrong  the  weak,  and  manly  strength  is  pure, 

And  womanhood,  made  rich  with  freedom's  gains, 

On  mercy's  gracious  errands  walks  secure  ! 

Bright  gardens,  where  God's  fairest  flowers  are  set, 

The  sunlight  of  His  smile  is  on  you  yet ! 

(1885.) 


i9o  A  DAY  AT  THUSIS. 


H  Bap  at  Ubusis* 


O'er  gorges  where  the  glacier-torrents  swell, 

Past  the  high  castle,  where  on  burning  wing 

A  thousand  butterflies  are  quivering 

'Mid  feathery  pink  and  slender  asphodel, 

And  in  the  sunshine  on  the  slanting  fell 

A  thousand  grasshoppers  are  chirrupping, 

We  sought  the  lone  Alp  whose  cool  grasses  spring 

For  summer  kine  that  browse  with  musical  bell. 

O  vastness  of  the  sunny  depths  of  air ! 

O  freedom  of  the  mountain  winds  that  blow ! 

O  splendour  of  the  snowy  ranges  fair  I 

As  round  me  in  a  tide  of  joy  ye  flow, 

Ye  bid  strange  yearnings  in  the  spirit  rise — 

Strange  yearnings  which  perchance  are  prophecies. 

(1885.) 


A  STARLIT  NIGHT  BY  THE  SEASHORE.     191 


H  Starlit  IFligbt  b£  tbe  Seasbore, 

SUGGESTED    BY   MATTHEW   ARNOLD'S 
"  SELF-DEPENDENCE." 


O  great  Stars,  aflame  with  awful  beauty ! 

O  great  Sea,  with  glittering  heaving  breast ! 
Stars,  that  march  all  calm  in  lines  of  duty ; 

Sea,  that  swayest  to  stern  law's  behest ; — 

Mighty  in  your  unimpassioned  splendour, 

Ye  are  filling  all  my  puny  soul 
With  the  longing  this  vexed  self  to  render 

Wholly  to  calm  Duty's  sure  control. 

It  were  restful  so  to  let  the  ruling 
Of  the  mightier  law  sway  all  the  life, 

Eager  will  and  passionate  spirit  schooling, 
Till  unfelt  the  pains  of  lesser  strife. 

Yet,  O  Stars,  your  quivering  shafts  unheeding 
On  these  tangled  human  sorrows  smite ; 

Merciless  Stars !  that  on  hearts  crushed  and  bleeding 
Pour  the  sharp  stings  of  your  bleak  cold  light. 


192    A  STARLIT  NIGHT  BY  THE  SEASHORE. 

Yet,  O  Sea,  that  glittering  breast  is  heaving, 
All  unconscious  of  the  life  it  rears, 

Shouting  in  the  mirth  of  its  bereaving, 
Laughing  o'er  a  thousand  widows'  tears. 

No  !  I  ask  not  for  a  life  high  lifted 

O'er  the  changeful  passions  of  mankind, 

Undistracted,  self-contained,  and  gifted 
With  a  force  to  feebler  issues  blind. 

Rather  fill  my  soul  to  overflowing 

With  the  tide  of  this  world's  grief  and  wrong : 
Let  me  suffer ;  though  it  be  in  knowing, 

Suffering  thus,  I  am  not  wholly  strong. 

Let  what  grandeur  crown  the  life  of  others, 
Let  what  light  on  lone  endurance  shine ; 

I  will  set  myself  beside  my  brothers, 

And  their  toils  and  troubles  shall  be  mine. 

(1885.) 


Ib^mns. 


[All  the  Hymns  in  this  book  are  by  the  Author's  direction 
hereby  made  public  property,  subject  only  to  the  condition  that 
they  be  printed  as  here  given.} 


\ 


HYMNS, 


Sntttas, 

The  evening  and  the  morning  were  the  first  day." — Gen.  i.  5. 

This  day,  at  Thy  creating  word, 

First  o'er  the  earth  the  light  was  poured  : 

O  Lord,  this  day  upon  us  shine, 

And  fill  our  souls  with  light  divine. 

This  day  the  Lord,  for  sinners  slain, 
In  might  victorious  rose  again  : 
O  Jesu,  may  we  raised  be 
From  death  of  sin  to  life  in  Thee. 

This  day  the  Holy  Spirit  came 
With  fiery  tongues  of  cloven  flame  : 
O  Spirit,  fill  our  hearts  this  day 
With  grace  to  hear,  and  grace  to  pray. 

O  day  of  light,  and  life,  and  grace  ! 
From  earthly  toils  sweet  resting-place  ! 
Thy  hallowed  hours,  best  gift  of  Love, 
Give  we  again  to  God  above ! 


!96  DAILY  PRAYER. 

All  praise  to  God  the  Father  be, 
All  praise,  Eternal  Son,  to  Thee, 
Whom  with  the  Spirit  we  adore 
For  ever  and  for  evermore.         Amen. 


2. 

E>aUs  Eraser* 

Let  my  prayer  be  set  forth  before  Thee  as  incense,  and  the  lifting 
up  of  my  hands  as  the  evening  sacrifice" — Ps.  cxli.  2. 

O  Lord,  it  is  a  blessed  thing 

To  Thee  both  morn  and  night  to  bring 

Our  worship's  lowly  offering ; 

Before  Thy  glorious  Throne  to  stand, 

Albeit  but  a  little  band, 

Led  by  our  holy  Mother's  hand, 

And,  from  the  strife  of  tongues  away, 
Ere  toil  begins,  to  meet  and  pray 
For  blessings  on  the  coming  day  ; 

And  night  by  night  for  evermore 
Again  with  blended  voice  to  pour 
Deep  thanks  for  mercies  gone  before. 

O  Jesu,  be  our  morning  Light, 

That  we  may  go  forth  to  the  fight 

With  strength  renewed  and  armour  bright. 


MONDAY.  197 


And  when  our  daily  work  is  o'er, 
And  sins  and  weakness  we  deplore, 
Oh,  then  be  Thou  our  Light  once  more ! 

Light  of  the  world  !  with  us  abide, 
And  to  Thyself  our  footsteps  guide, 
At  morn,  and  noon,  and  eventide.         Amen. 


/Ifeonfcas. 

"  Thou  shall  guide  me  with  Thy  counsel,  and  afterward  receive 
me  to  glory." — Ps.  lxxiii.  24. 

Yesterday  with  worship  blest 
Passed  our  day  of  hallowed  rest : 
Lord,  to-day  we  meet  once  more 
Grace  and  mercy  to  implore. 

Not  one  day  alone  shall  be 
Given,  O  God  of  love,  to  Thee ; 
Work  and  rest  alike  are  Thine  ; 
Brighten  all  with  love  divine. 

Through  the  passing  of  the  week, 
Father,  we  Thy  presence  seek  : 
Midst  this  world's  deceitful  maze 
Keep  us,  Lord,  in  all  our  ways. 


[98  THURSDAY. 


Oh,  what  snares  our  path  beset ! 
Oh,  what  cares  our  spirits  fret ! 
Let  no  earthly  thing,  we  pray, 
Draw  our  souls  from  Thee  away. 

Thou  hast  set  our  daily  task  ; 
Grace  and  strength  from  Thee  we  ask : 
Thou  our  joys  and  griefs  dost  send  ; 
To  Thy  will  our  spirits  bend. 

Still  in  duty's  lowly  round 
Be  our  patient  footsteps  found  : 
With  Thy  counsel  guide  us  here, 
Till  in  glory  we  appear.  Amen. 

4. 

"  He  was  received  up  into  heaven" — St.  Mark  xvi.  19. 

Ascended  Lord,  accept  our  praise, 

As,  with  adoring  eye, 
From  this  dim  earth  we  lift  our  gaze 

To  Thy  bright  Home  on  high. 

We  may  not  stay  our  lingering  feet 

Upon  the  sacred  hill, 
Nor  with  blest  dreams  and  visions  sweet 

Stand  gazing  upward  still. 


FRIDAY.  199 


For  Thou,  Lord,  shalt  once  more  appear  j 
And  we  would  seek  Thy  grace 

To  tread  our  lowly  pathway  here, 
Until  we  see  Thy  Face. 

And  week  by  week  we  ask  this  day 
Fresh  gleams  of  heavenly  light, 

To  cheer  us  on  our  toilsome  way, 
And  brighten  all  our  night. 

Then  praise  to  Thee,  ascended  Lord, 

O  Father,  praise  to  Thee, 
And  Thou,  O  Spirit,  be  adored, 

One  God  in  Trinity.  Amen. 


5. 

"  If  any  man  will  come  after  Afe,  let  him  deny  himself  and  take 
up  his  cross." — St.  Matt.  xvi.  24. 

O  Jesu,  crucified  for  man, 
O  Lamb,  all  glorious  on  Thy  Throne, 
Teach  Thou  our  wondering  souls  to  scan 
The  mystery  of  Thy  love  unknown. 

We  pray  Thee,  grant  us  strength  to  take 
Our  daily  Cross,  whate'er  it  be, 
And  gladly  for  Thine  own  dear  sake 
In  paths  of  pain  to  follow  Thee 


SPRING. 


As  on  our  daily  way  we  go, 
Through  light  or  shade,  in  calm  or  strife, 
Oh  !  may  we  bear  Thy  marks  below 
In  conquered  sin  and  chastened  life. 

And  week  by  week  this  day  we  ask 
That  holy  memories  of  Thy  Cross 
May  sanctify  each  common  task, 
And  turn  to  gain  each  earthly  loss. 

Grant  us,  dear  Lord,  our  Cross  to  bear 
Till  at  Thy  feet  we  lay  it  down, 
Win  through  Thy  Blood  our  pardon  there, 
And  through  the  Cross  attain  the  Crown. 

Amen. 

6. 
Spring. 

{Recast from  lines  by  F.  J.  Douglas.) 

{See  the  beautiful  Chant  Tune  by  A.  Sullivan,  "Church  Hymns'') 

"  The  flowers  appear  on  the  earth ,  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds 
is  come." — Cant.  ii.  12. 

For  all  Thy  love  and  goodness,  so  bountiful  and  free, 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored ! 

On  the  wings  of  joyous  praise  our  hearts  soar  up  to 

Thee: 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 


1 


SPRING.  201 


The  Springtime  breaks  all  round  about,  waking  from 

winter's  night  : 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored  ! 

The  sunshine,  like  God's  love,  pours  down  in  floods 

of  golden  light : 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 

A  voice  of  joy  is  in  all  the  earth,  a  voice  is  in  all  the 

air: 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored  ! 

All  nature  singeth  aloud  to  God ;  there  is  gladness 

everywhere : 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 

The  flowers  are  strewn  in  field  and  copse,  on  the  hill 

and  on  the  plain  : 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored  ! 

The  soft  air  stirs  in  the  tender  leaves  that  clothe  the 

trees  again  : 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 


The  works  of  Thy  hands  are  very  fair ;  and  for  all 

Thy  bounteous  love, 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored ! 

But  what,  if  this  world  is  so  fair,  is  the  Better  Land 

above  ? 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 


202  SUMMER. 


Oh,  to  awake  from  death's  short  sleep,  like  the  flowers 

from  their  wintry  grave  ! 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored  ! 

And  to  rise  all  glorious  in  the  day  when  Christ  shall 

come  to  save  ! 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 

Oh,  to  dwell  in  that  happy  land,  where  the  heart 

cannot  choose  but  sing  ! 

Thy  Name,  Lord,  be  adored  ! 

And  where  the  life  of  the  blessed  ones  is  a  beautiful 

endless  Spring  ! 

Glory  to  the  Lord  ! 

Alleluia.     Amen. 


Summer, 

(See  the  beautiful  Tune  "Ruth"  "  Church  Hymns.") 

Truly  the  light  is  sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  for  the 
eyes  to  behold  the  sun." — Eccles.  xi.  7. 

Summer  suns  are  glowing 

Over  land  and  sea, 
Happy  light  is  flowing 

Bountiful  and  free. 
Everything  rejoices 

In  the  mellow  rays, 
All  earth's  thousand  voices 

Swell  the  psalm  of  praise. 


SUMMER.  203 


God's  free  mercy  streameth 

Over  all  the  world, 
And  His  banner  gleameth 

Everywhere  unfurled. 
Broad  and  deep  and  glorious 

As  the  heaven  above, 
Shines  in  might  victorious 

His  eternal  Love. 
Lord,  upon  our  blindness 

Thy  pure  radiance  pour ; 
For  Thy  loving-kindness 

Make  us  love  Thee  more 
And  when  clouds  are  drifting 

Dark  across  our  sky, 
Then,  the  veil  uplifting, 

Father,  be  Thou  nigh. 
We  will  never  doubt  Thee, 

Though  Thou  veil  Thy  light : 
Life  is  dark  without  Thee  j 

Death  with  Thee  is  bright 
Light  of  Light !     Shine  o'er  us 

On  our  pilgrim  way, 
Go  Thou  still  before  us 

To  the  endless  day.         Amen. 


2o4  AUTUMN. 


8. 

Butumm 

"  He  gave  us  rain  from  heaven,  and  fruitful  seasons" 
— Acts  xiv.  17. 

The  year  is  swiftly  waning  ; 

The  summer  days  are  past ; 
And  life,  brief  life,  is  speeding  ; 

The  end  is  nearing  fast. 

The  ever-changing  seasons 

In  silence  come  and  go  ; 
But  Thou,  Eternal  Father, 

No  time  nor  change  canst  know. 

Oh  !  pour  Thy  Grace  upon  us 

That  we  may  worthier  be, 
Each  year  that  passes  o'er  us, 

To  dwell  in  heaven  with  Thee. 

Behold,  the  bending  orchards 

With  bounteous  fruit  are  crowned ; 

Lord,  in  our  hearts  more  richly 
Let  heavenly  fruits  abound. 

Oh  !  by  each  mercy  sent  us, 
And  by  each  grief  and  pain, 

By  blessings  like  the  sunshine, 
And  sorrows  like  the  rain, 


WINTER.  205 


Our  barren  hearts  make  fruitful 

With  every  goodly  grace, 
That  we  Thy  Name  may  hallow, 

And  see  at  last  Thy  Face.         Amen. 


9. 

Ximtnter. 

"  And  now  men  see  not  the  bright  light  which  is  in  the  clouds. 
— Job  xxxvii.  21. 

Winter  reigneth  o'er  the  land, 
Freezing  with  its  icy  breath ; 
Dead  and  bare  the  tall  trees  stand  ; 
All  is  chill  and  drear  as  death. 

Yet  it  seemeth  but  a  day 
Since  the  summer  flowers  were  here, 
Since  they  stacked  the  balmy  hay, 
Since  they  reaped  the  golden  ear. 

Sunny  days  are  past  and  gone  : 
So  the  years  go,  speeding  fast, 
Onward  ever,  each  new  one 
Swifter  speeding  than  the  last. 

Life  is  waning  ;  life  is  brief ; 
Death,  like  winter,  standeth  nigh  : 
Each  one,  like  the  falling  leaf, 
Soon  shall  fade,  and  fall,  and  die. 


2o6  EPIPHANY. 


But  the  sleeping  earth  shall  wake, 
New-born  flowers  shall  burst  in  bloom, 
And  all  Nature  rising  break 
Glorious  from  its  wintry'  tomb. 

So  the  Saints,  from  slumber  blest 
Rising,  shall  awake  and  sing  ; 
And  our  flesh  in  hope  shall  rest, 
Till  there  breaks  the  endless  Spring. 

Amen. 

10. 

Epipbans* 

"  That  was  the  true  Light,  which  lighteth  every  man  that  comet h 
into  the  world" — St.  John  i.  9. 

O  one  with  God  the  Father 

In  majesty  and  might, 
The  Brightness  of  His  glory, 

Eternal  Light  of  Light ; 
O'er  this  our  home  of  darkness 

Thy  rays  are  streaming  now ; 
The  shadows  flee  before  Thee, 

The  world's  true  Light  art  Thou. 

Yet,  Lord,  we  see  but  darkly  : — 

O  heavenly  Light,  arise, 
Dispel  these  mists  that  shroud  us, 

And  hide  Thee  from  our  eyes  ! 


HOLY  WEEK.  207 


We  long  to  track  the  footprints 
That  Thou  Thyself  hast  trod ; 

We  long  to  see  the  pathway 
That  leads  to  Thee,  our  God. 

O  Jesu,  shine  around  us 

With  radiance  of  Thy  grace  ; 
O  Jesu,  turn  upon  us 

The  brightness  of  Thy  face.- 
We  need  no  star  to  guide  us, 

As  on  our  way  we  press, 
If  Thou  Thy  light  vouchsafes!, 

O  Sun  of  righteousness.         Amen. 


11. 

1bols  Weeft- 

And  f,  if  1  be  lifted  up,  will  draw  all  m:n  unto  Me" 
— St.  John  xii.  32. 

Lord  Jesu,  when  we  stand  afar, 
And  gaze  upon  Thy  holy  Cross, 
In  love  of  Thee  and  scorn  of  self, 
Oh,  may  we  count  the  world  as  loss  ! 

When  we  behold  Thy  bleeding  wounds, 
And  the  rough  way  that  Thou  hast  trod, 
Make  us  to  hate  the  load  of  sin 
That  lay  so  heavy  on  our  God. 


2o8  EASTER. 


O  holy  Lord,  uplifted  high, 
With  outstretched  Arms,  in  mortal  woe, 
Embracing  in  Thy  wondrous  love 
The  sinful  world  that  lies  below ; — 

Give  us  an  ever-living  faith 

To  gaze  beyond  the  things  we  see ; 

And  in  the  mystery  of  Thy  death 

Draw  us  and  all  men  unto  Thee.         Amen. 


12. 

Easter, 

{For  a  Carol:   Written  for  <(DarwaWs  148^,"  "  Church 
Hymns") 

"  The  Angel  of  the  Lord  descended  from  heaven,  and  came,  and 
rolled  back  the  stone  from  the  door,  and  sat  upon  it." — St.  Matt. 
xxviii.  2. 

On  wings  of  living  light, 
At  earliest  dawn  of  day, 
Came  down  the  Angel  bright, 
And  rolled  the  stone  away. 

Your  voices  raise 

With  one  accord 

To  bless  and  praise 

Your  risen  Lord ! 


EASTER.  209 


The  keepers  watching  near 
At  that  dread  sight  and  sound 
Fell  down  with  sudden  fear 
Like  dead  men  to  the  ground. 
Your  voices  raise  &c. 

Then  rose  from  death's  dark  gloom, 
Unseen  by  mortal  eye, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  tomb, 
The  Lord  of  earth  and  sky  ! 
Your  voices  raise  &c. 

Ye  children  of  the  light, 
Arise  with  Him,  arise  ! 
See  how  the  Day-star  bright 
Is  burning  in  the  skies  ! 

Your  voices  raise  &c. 

Leave  in  the  grave  beneath 
The  old  things  passed  away  : 
Buried  with  Him  in  death, 
Oh,  live  with  Him  to-day  ! 
Your  voices  raise  &c. 

We  sing  Thee,  Lord  Divine, 
With  all  our  hearts  and  powers ; 
For  we  are  ever  Thine, 
And  Thou  art  ever  ours  ! 

Your  voices  raise  &c.         Amen. 

o 


2IO 


WHITSUNTIDE. 


13. 
XiClbitsunti&e* 

ttI  am  with  yoti  akvay,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world." — 
St.  Matt,  xxviii.  20. 

O  heavenly  Fount  of  light  and  love, 
Adoring  praise  to  Thee  we  pay ; 
Pour  down,  blest  Spirit,  from  above 

Fresh  streams  of  grace  this  day.       Alleluia  ! 

Thou,  o'er  the  everlasting  Son 
Hovering  with  wings  of  living  light, 
Anointedst  Israel's  Champion 
To  fight  the  awful  fight. 

At  Pentecost  Thou  earnest  down, 
As  sound  of  rushing  wind  went  by, 
With  tongues  of  heavenly  fire  to  crown 


Alleluia ! 


That  glorious  company. 

Thou  on  each  new-born  child  of  grace 
Dost  now  in  hidden  power  descend, 
To  strengthen  for  life's  weary  race, 
To  comfort  and  defend. 


Alleluia ! 


Alleluia ! 


Thou  in  each  meek  and  lowly  heart, 
With  streams  of  living  waters  bright, 
Sweet  Fount  of  strength  and  gladness  art, 

Fresh  Spring  of  life  and  light.  Alleluia ! 


THE  PURIFICATION.  211 

Tis  Thine,  O  Comforter,  Thy  Church 
With  light  of  heavenly  truth  to  fill, 
That  she  the  ancient  paths  may  search, 

And  guide  us  in  them  still.  Alleluia ! 

'Tis  Thine  the  lowly  souls  to  lead 
In  lowly  ways,  through  feast  and  fast, 
With  praise  and  prayer,  by  hymn  and  creed, 
To  heaven's  bright  gates  at  last.    Alleluia  ! 

Thee,  Spirit  blest,  All-Holy  One, 
In  songs  of  triumph  we  adore, 
For,  with  the  Father  and  the  Son, 

Thou  reignest  evermore  !  Alleluia  ! 

Amen. 


14. 

Gbe  purification, 

Aline  eyes  have  seen  Thy  salvation."" — St.  Luke  ii.  30. 

Rejoice,  ye  sons  of  men  ! 

Your  brightest  praises  yield  ! 

The  Everlasting  Son 

See  in  the  flesh  revealed  ! 
The  world's  Redeemer  comes  to-day 
His  own  redemption's  price  to  pay  ! 


212  THE  PURIFICATION. 

Lo  !  Simeon's  saintly  arms 

The  holy  Burden  bear ; 

He  sees  with  raptured  eye 

His  true  Salvation  there. 
The  weary  waiting  now  is  past : 
The  Long-expected  comes  at  last. 

The  aged  Saint's  embrace 

The  blessed  mother  saw, 

And  on  his  words  so  strange 

She  mused  with  silent  awe. 
What  conflict  for  her  Child  is  stored  ? 
And  what  for  her  this  piercing  sword  ? 

O  Saviour,  in  Thy  courts 

We  all  our  sins  confess  : 

But  Thou  didst  once  for  us 

Fulfil  all  righteousness. 
Impure,  unclean,  oh,  may  we  be 
Presented  pure  and  clean  in  Thee  ! 

And  when,  O  God  made  Man, 

Upon  our  waiting  eye, 

In  glorious  might  revealed, 

Salvation  draweth  nigh ; 
In  that  great  day  Thy  servants  bless, 
And  be  "  the  Lord  our  Righteousness  " ! 

Amen. 


THE  ANNUNCIATION.  213 


15. 

XTbe  Hnnunciation. 

"in  this  was  manifested  the  love  of  God  towards  us." — I  St. 
John  iv.  9. 

Great  Gabriel  sped  on  wings  of  light, 

With  wondrous  tidings  laden  ; 
He  came  from  heav'n's  unclouded  height 

To  greet  a  lowly  maiden. 

For  God  upon  her  low  estate 
Had  looked  with  Royal  favour ; 

And  all  earth's  kindreds  celebrate 
The  mighty  Gift  He  gave  her  ! 

Oh,  awful  bliss  !  that  from  her  womb 

Should  spring  the  Uncreated, 
The  Great  and  Holy  One,  for  whom 

The  world  so  long  had  waited  ! 

A  day  thrice  blest  for  man  is  this, 
Thou  longed-for  of  all  nations  ! 

And  men  shall  sing  Thy  Mother's  bliss 
Throughout  all  generations  ! 

O  Son  divine  !  we  fain  would  trace 

Thy  Mother's  steps  so  lowly, 
Her  joys  and  woes,  her  saintly  grace, 

Her  life  so  calm  and  holy. 


214  ST.  PETER. 


But  lo  !  as  all  too  near  we  press, 

A  veil  the  scene  enfoldeth  ! 
No  tongue  may  sing  its  loveliness, 

No  eye  its  peace  beholdeth  ! 

And  as  we  read  with  kindling  eye 

This  day's  all-gracious  story, 
The  blessed  Mother  passeth  by, 

And  Thine  is  all  the  glory  !         Amen. 


16. 

St.  peter. 

"  Simon  Peter  ansrvered  and  said,  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son 
of  the  living  God." — St.  Matt.  xvi.  16. 

"  Thou  art  the  Christ,  O  Lord, 

The  Son  of  God  most  high  !  " 

For  ever  be  adored 

That  Name  in  earth  and  sky, 
In  which,  though  mortal  strength  may  fail, 
The  Saints  of  God  at  last  prevail ! 

Oh,  surely  he  was  blest 

With  blessedness  unpriced, 

Who,  taught  of  God,  confessed 

The  Godhead  in  the  Christ ! 
For  of  Thy  Church,  Lord,  Thou  didst  own 
Thy  Saint  a  true  foundation-stone. 


ST.  MATTHEW.  215 

Thrice  was  he  put  to  shame, 

Thrice  did  the  dauntless  fall ; 

But,  oh  !  that  look  that  came 

From  out  the  judgment-hall, — 
It  pierced  and  broke  the  spell-bound  heart 
And  foiled  the  Tempter's  sifting  art ! 

Thrice  fallen — thrice  restored  ! 

The  bitter  lesson  learnt, 

That  heart  for  Thee,  O  Lord, 

With  triple  ardour  burnt. 
The  cross  he  took  he  laid  not  down 
Until  he  grasped  the  martyr's  crown  ! 

Oh  bright  triumphant  faith  ! 

Oh  courage  void  of  fears  ! 

Oh  love  most  strong  in  death  ! 

Oh  penitential  tears ! 
By  these,  Lord,  keep  us  lest  we  fall, 
And  make  us  go  where  Thou  shalt  call.      Amen. 


17. 
St.  /IDattbew. 

(Adapted  from  Bishop  Ken.) 
"  Arise,  He  calleth  thee." — St.  Mark  x.  49. 

Behold,  the  Master  passeth  by  ! 

Oh,  seest  thou  not  His  pleading  Eye  ? 


2i6  ST.  MATTHEW. 


With  low  sad  voice  He  calleth  thee — 
'  Leave  this  vain  world,  and  follow  Me.' 

0  soul,  bowed  down  with  harrowing  care, 
Hast  thou  no  thought  for  heaven  to  spare  ? 
From  earthly  toils  lift  up  thine  eye  ; — 
Behold,  the  Master  passeth  by  ! 

One  heard  Him  calling  long  ago, 
And  straightway  left  all  things  below, 
Counting  his  earthly  gain  as  loss 
For  Jesus  and  His  blessed  Cross. 

That  '  Follow  Me  '  his  faithful  ear 
Seemed  every  day  afresh  to  hear  : 
Its  echoes  stirred  his  spirit  still, 
And  fired  his  hope,  and  nerved  his  will. 

God  gently  calls  us  every  day  : 
Why  should  we  then  our  bliss  delay  ? 
He  calls  to  heaven  and  endless  light : 
Why  should  we  love  the  dreary  night  ? 

Praise,  Lord,  to  Thee  for  Matthew's  call, 
At  which  he  rose  and  left  his  all : 
Thou,  Lord,  e'en  now  art  calling  me, — 

1  will  leave  all,  and  follow  Thee.         Amen. 


ST.  LUKE.  217 


18. 

St*  Xufee, 

Who  went  about  doing  good  and  healing  all  that  were  oppressed 
of  the  devil.'"' — Acts  x.  38. 

Oh,  blest  was  he,  whose  earlier  skill 

The  suffering  frame  made  whole, 
Called,  Lord,  by  Thee  from  deadlier  woes 

To  heal  the  dying  soul ! 

O  true  Physician  !  heal  the  souls 

That  sick  and  wounded  lie  ; 
With  wholesome  medicine  of  Thy  word 

Oh,  heal  them  lest  they  die ! 

Lord,  to  our  nature  cleaveth  still 

The  leprosy  of  sin  ; 
Put  forth  Thy  hand  and  touch  us,  Lord, 

And  make  us  clean  within. 

Lo  !  souls  are  lying  cold  and  dead 

In  palsy's  numbing  chain  ; 
Speak  Thou  the  word  of  power,  good  Lord, 

And  bid  them  live  again. 

The  fever  burns  in  guilty  breasts — 

Hot  passion's  wilful  fire  : 
Calm  Thou  the  storm  with  words  of  peace, 

And  quell  each  vain  desire. 


218  SAINTS1  DAYS. 


O  Jesu,  Healer  of  all  ills, 

To  thee  for  help  we  flee ; 
Our  souls,  by  Thine  all-cleansing  grace, 

From  every  bond  set  free.         Amen. 


19. 
Saints'  2>ass* 

"I  am  glorified  in  them.'''' — St.  John  xvi.  io. 

For  all  the  Saints  who  from  their  labours  rest, 
Who  Thee  by  faith  before  the  world  confessed, 
Thy  Name,  O  Jesu,  be  for  ever  blest. 

Alleluia ! 

Thou  wast  their  Rock,  their  Fortress,  and  their 

Might ; 
Thou,    Lord,    their   Captain   in   the   well-fought 

fight; 
Thou  in  the  darkness  drear  their  one  true  Light. 

Alleluia ! 

Oh !  may  Thy  soldiers,  faithful,  true,  and  bold, 
Fight  as  the  Saints  who  nobly  fought  of  old, 
And  win,  with  them,  the  victor's  crown  of  gold. 

Alleluia ! 


SAINTS1  DAY.  219 


Oh,  blest  communion  !     Fellowship  divine  ! 
We  feebly  struggle ;  they  in  glory  shine  ! 
Yet  all  are  one  in  Thee,  for  all  are  Thine. 

Alleluia ! 

And  when  the  strife  is  fierce,  the  warfare  long, 
Steals  on  the  ear  the  distant  triumph-song, 
And  hearts  are  brave  again,  and  arms  are  strong ! 

Alleluia ! 

The  golden  evening  brightens  in  the  West : 
Soon,  soon,  to  faithful  warriors  cometh  rest ; 
Sweet  is  the  calm  of  Paradise  the  blest. 

Alleluia  ! 

But  lo  !  there  breaks  a  yet  more  glorious  day ; 
The  saints  triumphant  rise  in  bright  array ; 
The  King  of  Glory  passes  on  His  way  ! 

Alleluia ! 

From  earth's  wide  bounds,  from  ocean's  farthest 

coast, 
Through  gates  of  pearl  streams  in  the  countless 

host, 
Singing  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost — 

Alleluia !     Amen. 


22o  HOLY  COMMUNION. 


20. 

1bol£  Communion* 

(See  a  beautiful  Tune,  written  for  this  Hymn  by  Dr.  Dykes,  in 
"  Church  Hymns.") 

"  Present  your  bodies  a  living  sacrifice,  holy,  acceptable  unto  God.''' 
— Rom.  xii.  i. 

Great  and  Glorious  Father,  humbly  we  adore  Thee, 
Poor   and   weak   and   helpless    sinners   in   Thine 
eyes; 

Yet,  in  meek  obedience,  low  we  fall  before  Thee, 
Trusting,  pleading  only  Jesus'  Sacrifice. 

Bowed   beneath   Thy   footstool,    yet   with   boldness 
pleading 

This  the  only  plea  on  which  our  hope  relies, 
Unto  Thee,  O  Father,  all  Thy  mercy  needing, 

Make  we  this  Memorial  of  Christ's  Sacrifice. 

To  our  brother  sinners  we  repeat  the  story, 
('Tis  the  Gospel  story  pictured  to  our  eyes,) 

Ever  in  this  service,  till  He  comes  in  glory, 
Showing  forth  the  Saviour's  priceless  Sacrifice. 

For  His  own  dear  members  He  is  interceding, 
Far  above  in  light  unseen  by  mortal  eyes ; 


HOLY  COMMUNION.  221 

Yet  is  present  now,  His  faithful  children  feeding, 
Giving  His  own  Self,  their  one  true  Sacrifice. 

Then,  O  gracious  Father,  bent  in  reverence  lowly, 
We  would  taste  the  pledges  we  so  dearly  prize, 

Food  that  none  may  dare  to  take  with  hands  un- 
holy, 
Feasting  on  the  once  accepted  Sacrifice. 

Hath  He  died  to  save  us,  in  His  love  so  tender, 
And    shall   we   repay   Him    nought   but   fruitless 
sighs  ? 

Nay,  our  souls  and  bodies,  all  we  have  we  render : 
Father,  for  His  sake  accept  our  sacrifice. 

Great  and  gracious  Father,  at  Thy  right  hand  glorious, 
As  our  souls  to  Thee  in  trembling  worship  rise, 

Lo !    the   Lamb   once    offered   reigneth   now   victo- 
rious, 
And  the  Angel  choirs  adore  His  Sacrifice  ! 

We  too  would  adore  Thee,  Saviour,  ever  raising 
Praises  to  the  Lamb  who  reigns  above  the  skies. 
Oh,  the  mercy  boundless  !     Oh,  the  love  amazing ! 
Glory  be  to  Thee,  our  one  true  Sacrifice  ! 

Alleluia !     Amea 


222  HOLY  BAPTISM. 


21. 

1fool£  baptism* 

"  This  is  My  Beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased. 
St.  Matt.  ii.  17. 

Oh,  sight  for  Angels  to  adore, 

Yet  given  to  man  to  see  ! 
In  Jordan's  ancient  stream  is  wrought 

A  wondrous  mystery  : 

The  pure  and  spotless  Son  of  God 

Disdaineth  not  to  stand, 
Bent  meekly  in  the  cleansing  rite, 

Beneath  His  servant's  hand. 

And  what  is  this  so  wonderful  ? 

Lo  !  as  He  standeth  there, 
A  mystic  Form  of  radiant  light 

Is  hovering  in  the  air  : 

It  resteth  dove-like  on  His  Head ; 

That,  filled  with  sevenfold  might, 
The  Son  of  David  may  go  forth 

To  fight  His  lonely  fight. 

And  hark  what  dread  and  awful  Voice 
Comes  wafted  from  on  high  ! 

What  words  the  adoring  listeners  hear 
Re-echoing  through  the  sky  ! 


HOLY  BAPTISM.  223 

He  standeth  in  a  servant's  form, 

The  meek  and  lowly  One  ; 
Yet  lo !  the  Father  owneth  Him 

His  well-beloved  Son. 

Glory  to  Thee,  O  Lord,  whose  grace, 

To  our  baptizing  given, 
Hath  washed  our  souls  and  poured  on  us 

Thy  Holy  Ghost  from  heaven ! 

Glory  to  Thee,  in  whose  dear  Son 

Our  sonship  now  we  claim, 
And  as  Thy  new-born  children  call 

Upon  our  Father's  Name  !         Amen. 


22. 

1bois  baptism, 

"By  one  Spirit  a?-e  we  all  baptized  into  one  body. 
1  Cor.  xii.  13. 

O'er  the  shoreless  waste  of  waters 
In  the  world's  primaeval  night, 

Moved  the  quickening  Spirit,  waking 
All  things  into  life  and  light. 

So,  Lord,  in  Thy  new  creation 
Light  in  Thine  own  Light  we  see, 

By  the  water  and  the  Spirit 
Born  again  to  life  in  Thee. 


224  HOLY  BAPTISM. 

When  from  Thine  avenging  deluge 
Thou  Thy  chosen  ones  wouldst  save, 

Lo  !  the  Ark  of  Thine  appointing 
Rode  in  safety  on  the  wave. 

So,  Lord,  on  the  world's  broad  ocean, 
Tost  with  tempests  fierce  and  dark, 

Thine  elect  have  found  a  refuge, 
And  Thy  Church  is  now  their  Ark. 

Through  the  Red  Sea's  cloven  waters 
Israel's  children  gained  the  shore, 

Free  to  seek  the  land  of  promise, 
Egypt's  bond-slaves  now  no  more. 

So  upon  their  journey  starting, 

Thou  Thy  children,  Lord,  dost  free  : 

Lo  !  they  pass  from  Satan's  bondage 
Into  glorious  liberty  ! 

Buried  with  their  buried  Saviour, 

Raised  with  Him  to  life  again, 
Oh,  that,  dead  to  sin,  Thy  children 

May  to  Christ-like  life  attain  ! 

Father,  guide  them  by  Thy  Spirit, 

Lead  them  on  from  strength  to  strength, 

Till,  all  toils  and  conflicts  ended, 

They  are  safe  with  Thee  at  length.     Amen. 


CONFIRMATION.  225 


23. 
Confirmation. 

"  We  will  serve  the  Lord." — Josh.  xxiv.  15. 

Before  Thine  awful  presence,  Lord, 

Thy  sinful  servants  bow ; 
Trembling  to  speak  the  solemn  word, 

To  frame  the  sacred  vow. 

The  sins  in  hours  of  weakness  wrought, 
The  vain  things  loved  before, 

The  wanton  deed  and  word  and  thought, 
Lord,  we  renounce  once  more. 

Once  more  we  vow  the  holy  Faith 
To  keep  unstained  and  true ; 

Once  more  we  promise  unto  death 
Thy  holy  will  to  do. 

Again  we  gird  us  to  the  fight, 

Again  we  face  the  foe, 
Resolved,  beneath  Thy  banner  bright, 

Where  Thou  shalt  lead,  to  go. 

O  Father,  pardon  all  the  past ; 

Give  back  Thy  wasted  grace ; 

And  strengthen  us,  while  life  shall  last, 

To  run  the  heavenward  race. 

p 


226  IN  TIME  OF  WAR. 

Still  let  Thy  blessed  Spirit's  aid 
Our  strength  and  comfort  be ; 

Then,  though  we  sometime  be  afraid, 
We  still  will  trust  in  Thee.         Amen. 


24. 
3n  Uimc  of  Mat. 

"  He  maheih  peace  in  thy  borders." — Ps.  cxlvii.  14. 

O  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  earth  is  Thine ; 
The  nations  bow  beneath  Thy  sway ; 
Thy  wisdom,  love,  and  power  divine 
All  things  in  heaven  and  earth  obey. 

The  dearth,  the  pestilence,  the  sword, 
These  Thy  most  righteous  judgments  are  ; 
Yet  mark  not  our  deservings,  Lord, 
But  lift  from  us  the  scourge  of  war. 

The  loftiness  of  man  bow  down  ; 
The  haughtiness  of  man  make  low  : 
Let  all  the  world  Thy  greatness  own  ; 
And  Peace  return  to  dwell  below. 

O'er  passions  fierce  and  hatred  sore 
Shed  down  Thy  healing  Love  again ; 
Bid  Angel  choirs  sing  out  once  more 
"  Peace  upon  earth,  good  will  to  men." 


OFFERTORY.  227 


O  Father,  teach  us  brother's  love ; 
O  Saviour,  make  us  one  in  Thee ; 
O  Spirit,  pour  forth  from  above 
Mercy  and  Peace  and  Unity.         Amen. 


25. 

©ffertors. 

tl  A'l  things  come  of  Thee,  and  of  Thine  own  have  we  given 
Thee" — 1  Chron.  xxix.  14. 

We  give  Thee  but  Thine  own, 
Whate'er  the  gift  may  be : 
All  that  we  have  is  Thine  alone, 
A  trust,  O  Lord,  from  Thee. 

May  we  Thy  bounties  thus 
As  stewards  true  receive, 
And  gladly,  as  Thou  blessest  us, 
To  Thee  our  first-fruits  give. 

Oh  !  hearts  are  bruised  and  dead  ; 
And  homes  are  bare  and  cold  ; 
And  lambs  for  whom  the  Shepherd  bled 
Are  straying  from  the  fold  1 

To  comfort  and  to  bless, 
To  find  a  balm  for  woe, 
To  tend  the  lone  and  fatherless, 
Is  Angels'  work  below. 


228  HOME  MISSIONS. 


The  captive  to  release, 
To  God  the  lost  to  bring, 
To  teach  the  way  of  life  and  peace,- 
It  is  a  Christ-like  thing. 

And  we  believe  Thy  word, 
Though  dim  our  faith  may  be, — 
Whate'er  for  Thine  we  do,  O  Lord, 
We  do  it  unto  Thee.     Amen. 


26. 

Ifoome  /IIMsstons* 

**  Take  the  sword  of  the  Spirit ',  which  is  the  word  of  God."- 
Eph.  vi.  17. 

Soldiers  of  the  Cross,  arise  ! 
Gird  you  with  your  armour  bright ; 
Mighty  are  your  enemies, 
Hard  the  battle  ye  must  fight 

O'er  a  faithless  fallen  world 
Raise  your  banner  in  the  sky  : 
Let  it  float  there  wide  unfurled  ; 
Bear  it  onward  ;  lift  it  high. 

'Mid  the  homes  of  want  and  woe, 
Strangers  to  the  living  word, 
Let  the  Saviour's  herald  go, 
Let  the  voice  of  hope  be  heard. 


HOSPITALS.  229 


Where  the  shadows  deepest  lie, 
Carry  truth's  unsullied  ray  ; 
Where  are  crimes  of  blackest  dye, 
There  the  saving  sign  display. 

To  the  weary  and  the  worn 
Tell  of  realms  where  sorrows  cease  ; 
To  the  outcast  and  forlorn 
Speak  of  mercy  and  of  peace. 

Guard  the  helpless  ;  seek  the  strayed  ; 
Comfort  troubles;  banish  grief; 
In  the  might  of  God  arrayed, 
Scatter  sin  and  unbelief. 

Be  the  banner  still  unfurled, 

Still  unsheathed  the  Spirit's  sword, 

Till  the  kingdoms  of  the  world 

Are  the  kingdom  of  the  Lord.         Amen. 


27. 

fiospttals, 

"  1 will  strengthen  that  which  was  sick." — Ezek.  xxxiv.  16. 

O  Thou  through  suffering  perfect  made, 
On  whom  the  bitter  Cross  was  laid ; 
In  hours  of  sickness,  grief,  and  pain, 
No  sufferer  turns  to  Thee  in  vain. 


230     CHURCH  GUILDS  AND  ASSOCIATIONS. 

The  halt,  the  maimed,  the  sick,  the  blind, 
Sought  not  in  vain  Thy  tendance  kind ; 
Now  in  Thy  poor  Thyself  we  see, 
And  minister  through  them  to  Thee. 

O  loving  Saviour,  Thou  canst  cure 
The  pains  and  woes  Thou  didst  endure  : 
For  all  who  need,  Physician  great, 
Thy  healing  balm  we  supplicate. 

But,  oh !  far  more,  let  each  keen  pain 
And  hour  of  woe  be  heavenly  gain, 
Each  stroke  of  Thy  chastising  rod 
Bring  back  the  wanderer  nearer  God. 

Oh  !  heal  the  bruised  heart  within  : 
Oh  !  save  our  souls  all  sick  with  sin : 
Give  life  and  health  in  bounteous  store, 
That  we  may  praise  Thee  evermore.       Amen. 


28. 

Cburcb  (Builfcs  anfc  Essociations* 

"  Bring  him  unto  Me." — St.  Mark  ix.  19. 

Upon  the  holy  Mount  they  stood 

That  wondrous  awful  night : 
They  saw,  and  knew  that  it  was  good 

To  see  that  vision  bright. 


CHURCH  GUILDS  AND  ASSOCIATIONS.     231 

No  Man  of  sorrows  stands  there  now ; 

But,  keen  as  lightning-flame, 
The  streams  of  heavenly  radiance  flow 

From  that  transfigured  Frame. 

Beneath  that  Mount  another  scene 
They  saw,  when  morning  smiled  : 

A  father,  torn  with  anguish  keen, 
Sought  mercy  for  his  child. 

No  more  the  blaze  of  glistering  light 

Enwraps  the  Fonn  divine, 
But  tender  love  and  healing  might 

Around  Him  softly  shine. 

He  came  from  hours  of  rapture  high 

To  care  for  human  woe  : 
So  Angels  from  God's  Presence  fly 

To  succour  man  below. 

O  Jesu,  be  our  life  like  Thine ;  — 

Blest  labour,  doubly  blest 
By  communings  with  things  divine 

Upon  the  mountain's  crest. 

Lord,  we  would  pass  from  hours  of  prayer, 

That  lift  our  souls  above, 
To  go  where  want  and  sorrow  are 

With  lowly  deeds  of  love. 


232  ASSOCIATIONS  OF  WOMEN. 

Let  no  self-will  within  us  lurk, 
Nor  faithless  sloth  be  there  ; 

But  prayer  give  life  to  all  our  work, 

And  work  crown  all  our  prayer.     Amen. 


29. 

associations  of  Women* 

Which  ministered  unto  Him  of  their  substance.' 
St.  Luke  viii.  3. 

O  daughters  blest  of  Galilee, 
With  Jesus  chose  ye  well  to  be, 
Thrice  happy  holy  company  ! 

Oh  joy,  to  see  that  Master  dear  ! 
Oh  joy,  to  live  with  Him  so  near ! 
Oh  joy,  that  gentle  voice  to  hear  ! 

Oh  more  than  joy,  to  that  dear  Lord, 
In  purest  deepest  love  adored, 
All  lowly  service  to  afford ! 

Yea,  happy  was  your  lot  to  bring 
In  loyal  homage  to  your  King 
Each  free  and  gracious  offering. 

O  Jesu,  throned  above  the  height, 
Adoring  troops  of  Angels  bright 
Wait  on  Thy  bidding  day  and  night. 


PROCESSIONAL.  233 

Thy  sacred  form  we  cannot  see, 

Yet,  Lord,  these  hands  may  render  Thee 

Each  lowly  act  of  charity. 

For  while  'mid  want  and  woe  we  move, 
And  tend  Thy  poor  in  gentle  love, 
We  minister  to  Thee  above. 

O  gracious  Jesu,  we  confess 

Our  poor  cold  love,  our  nothingness  : 

Yet  Thou  wilt  own,  and  Thou  wilt  bless  ! 

Amen. 

30. 

IprocessionaL 

(Written for  the  Tune  St.  Kevin,  by  A.  Sullivan.     See  " Church 
Hy  771ns") 

"The  trmnpeters  a.7id  singers  were  as  one." — 2  Chron.  v.  13. 

Bound  in  holy  bonds  of  love, 

Brother  joined  with  brother, 
Lift  we  psalm  and  hymn  above, 

"Teaching  one  another." 
Treading  where  our  fathers  trod, 

Hearts  and  voices  blending, 
Sing  we  merrily  unto  God, 

To  His  courts  ascending. 

Lo  !  we  march  in  robes  of  white, 
Duly  thus  confessing 


234  PROCESSIONAL. 


We  are  children  of  the  light, 
Onward,  upward,  pressing. 

God  protect  our  souls  from  stain, 
Satan's  malice  quelling ; 

God  conduct  His  ransomed  train 
To  His  sinless  dwelling ! 

Lo  !  with  measured  steps  we  march 

Through  the  sacred  portal, 
By  each  sculptured  shaft  and  arch  ;- 

Soldiers  of  the  Immortal ! 
God  preserve  our  order  due, 

Each  his  post  defending, 
Each  a  warrior  brave  and  true 

Till  the  warfare's  ending  ! 

Lo  !  with  skill  of  tuneful  grace, 

In  our  choral  singing, 
Treble,  alto,  tenor,  bass, 

Each  his  part  is  bringing. 
May  we  all  in  life  and  heart 

Thus  harmonious  labour, 
Bearing  our  allotted  part, 

Helping  each  his  neighbour. 

In  His  Temple  thus  we  sing, 
Minstrels  poor  and  lowly, 

At  His  footstool  offering 
Praises  to  the  All-holy. 


CHILDREN'S  HYMNS.  235 

Treading  where  our  fathers  trod, 
(Hark  !  they  chant  victorious  !) 

Sing  we  merrily  unto  God — 

God  the  King  all-glorious  !         Amen. 


31. 

/Ifcorning  1b£mn 

FOR   A  LITTLE  CHILD. 

"I  laid  vie  down  and  slept,  and  rose  up  a°ain,for  the  Lord 
sustained  me." — Ps.  iii.  5. 

God  of  mercy  and  of  love, 
Listen  from  the  heav'n  above, 
While  to  Thee  my  voice  I  raise 
In  a  morning  hymn  of  praise. 
It  was  Thine  almighty  arm 
Kept  me  all  night  long  from  harm : 
It  is  only,  Lord,  by  Thee 
That  another  morn  I  see. 

Lo  !  the  happy  light  of  day 
Drives  the  shadows  all  away  : 
Lo  !  it  brings  again  to  sight 
All  things  beautiful  and  bright 
White  clouds  sailing  in  the  air, 
Little  flow  rs  so  fresh  and  fair, 
Greenest  fields,  and  rippling  streams, 
Glitter  in  the  morning  beams. 


236  CHILDREN'S  HYMNS. 

Father,  keep  me  all  day  long 

From  all  hurtful  things  and  wrong ; 

Make  me  an  obedient  child, 

Make  me  loving,  gentle,  mild. 

Hark  !  the  birds  are  singing  gay, 

Let  me  sing,  as  well  as  they, 

Praise  to  Him  who  is  above 

For  His  mercies  and  His  love.         Amen. 


32. 
JEvcning  Ifosmn 

FOR   A  LITTLE  CHILD. 

"  1 will  lay  me  down  in  peace.'''' — Ps.  iv.  9. 

Now  the  sun  has  passed  away, 
With  the  golden  light  of  day  ; 
Now  the  shades  of  silent  night 
Hide  the  flowers  from  our  sight ; 
Now  the  little  stars  on  high 
Twinkle  in  the  mighty  sky ; 
Father,  merciful  and  mild, 
Listen  to  Thy  little  child. 

Loving  Father,  put  away 
All  things  wrong  I've  done  to-day ; 
Make  me  gentle,  true,  and  good, 
Make  me  love  Thee  as  I  should. 


CHILDREN'S  HYMNS.  237 

Make  me  feel  by  day  and  night 

I  am  ever  in  Thy  sight. 

Jesus  was  a  little  Child, 

Make  me,  like  Him,  meek  and  mild. 

Heavenly  Father,  hear  my  prayer, 
Take  Thy  child  into  Thy  care, 
Let  Thy  Angels  good  and  bright 
Watch  around  me  thro'  the  night. 
Keep  me  now,  and,  when  I  die, 
Take  me  to  the  glorious  sky. 
Father,  merciful  and  mild, 
Listen  to  Thy  little  child.         Amen. 


33. 

Eebolfc  a  Xittle  Gbilt>, 

The  Babe  lying  in  a  manger." — St.  Luke  ii.  16. 

Behold  a  little  Child 

Laid  in  a  manger-bed  ! 

The  wintry  blasts  blow  wild 

Around  His  infant  Head. 
But  who  is  this  so  lowly  laid  ? 
'Tis  He  by  whom  the  worlds  were  made  ! 


Alas  !  in  what  poor  state 
The  Son  of  God  is  seen  ! 


238  CHILDREN'S  HYMNS. 

Why  doth  the  Lord  so  great 
Choose  out  a  home  so  mean  ? 

That  we  may  learn  from  pride  to  flee, 

And  follow  His  humility. 

Where  Joseph  plies  his  trade 

Lo  !  Jesus  labours  too ; 

The  Hands  that  all  things  made 

An  earthly  craft  pursue  : 
That  weary  men  in  Him  may  rest, 
And  faithful  toil  through  Him  be  blest 

Among  the  doctors  see 

The  Boy  so  full  of  grace  ! 

Say,  wherefore  taketh  He 

The  scholar's  lowly  place  ? 
That  Christian  boys  with  reverence  meet 
May  sit  and  learn  at  Jesus'  feet. 

Christ !  once  Thyself  a  Boy, 

Our  boyhood  guard  and  guide  : 

Be  Thou  its  light  and  joy, 

And  still  with  us  abide  : 
That  Thy  dear  love,  so  great  and  free, 
May  draw  us  evermore  to  Thee  !        Amen. 


CHILDREN'S  HYMNS.  239 

34. 

Come,  praise  pour  Xorfc  anfc  Saviour, 

Let  everything  that  hath  breath  praise  the  Lord." — Ps.  cl.  6. 

Come,  praise  your  Lord  and  Saviour 

In  strains  of  holy  mirth  : 
Give  thanks  to  Him,  O  children, 

Who  lived  a  Child  on  earth. 

He  loved  the  little  children 

And  called  them  to  His  side, 
His  loving  Arms  embraced  them, 

And  for  their  sake  He  died. 

(boys  only.) 
O  Jesu,  we  would  praise  Thee 

With  songs  of  holy  joy, 
For  Thou  on  earth  didst  sojourn 

A  pure  and  spotless  Boy. 

Make  us  like  Thee  obedient, 
Like  Thee  from  sin-stains  free, 

Like  Thee  in  God's  own  Temple, 
In  lowly  home  like  Thee. 

(girls  only.) 
O  Jesu,  we  too  praise  Thee, 

The  lowly  Maiden's  Son  : 
In  Thee  all  gentlest  graces 

Are  gathered  into  one. 


24o  CHILDREN'S  HYMNS. 

Oh  !  give  that  best  adornment 
That  Christian  maid  can  wear, 

The  meek  and  quiet  spirit 
Which  shone  in  Thee  so  fair. 

(all.) 
O  Lord,  with  voices  blended 

We  sing  our  songs  of  praise  : 
Be  Thou  the  Light  and  Pattern 

Of  all  our  childhood's  days  ; 

And  lead  us  ever  onward, 
That,  while  we  stay  below, 

We  may,  like  Thee,  O  Jesu, 

In  grace  and  wisdom  grow.         Amen. 


35. 

XTbe  %ove  of  Jesus* 

"Herein  is  love."—i  St.  John  iv.  10. 

It  is  a  thing  most  wonderful, 

Almost  too  wonderful  to  be, 

That  God's  own  Son  should  come  from  heaven, 

And  die  to  save  a  child  like  me. 

And  yet  I  know  that  it  is  true  ; 

He  chose  a  poor  and  humble  lot, 

And  wept,  and  toiled,  and  mourned,  and  died, 

For  love  of  those  who  loved  Him  not. 


CHILDREN'S  HYMNS.  241 

I  cannot  tell  how  He  could  love 
A  child  so  weak  and  full  of  sin  ; 
His  love  must  be  most  wonderful, 
If  He  could  die  my  love  to  win. 

I  sometimes  think  about  the  Cross, 
And  shut  my  eyes,  and  try  to  see 
The  cruel  nails,  and  crown  of  thorns, 
And  Jesus  crucified  for  me. 

But,  even  could  I  see  Him  die, 
I  could  but  see  a  little  part 
Of  that  great  love,  which,  like  a  fire, 
Is  always  burning  in  His  heart 

It  is  most  wonderful  to  know 
His  love  for  me  so  free  and  sure ; 
But  'tis  more  wonderful  to  see 
My  love  for  Him  so  faint  and  poor. 

And  yet  I  want  to  love  Thee,  Lord ; 
Oh,  light  the  flame  within  my  heart, 
And  I  will  love  Thee  more  and  more, 
Until  I  see  Thee  as  Thou  art.         Amen. 


242  CHILDREN'S  HYMNS. 

36. 
ffor  a  Scbool  festival* 

"  Samttel  ministered  before  the  Lord,  being  a  child." — I  Sam.  ii.  18. 

Lord,  this  day  Thy  children  meet 
In  Thy  courts  with  willing  feet : 
Unto  Thee  this  day  they  raise 
Grateful  hearts  in  hymns  of  praise. 

Not  alone  the  day  of  rest 
With  Thy  worship  shall  be  blest ; 
In  our  pleasure  and  our  glee, 
Lord,  we  would  remember  Thee. 

Help  us  unto  Thee  to  pray, 
Hallowing  our  happy  day  , 
From  Thy  presence  thus  to  win 
Hearts  all  pure  and  free  from  sin. 

All  our  pleasures  here  below, 
Saviour,  from  Thy  mercy  flow : 
Little  children  Thou  dost  love  ; 
Draw  our  hearts  to  Thee  above. 

Make,  O  Lord,  our  childhood  shine 

With  all  lowly  grace,  like  Thine  : 

Then  through  all  eternity 

We  shall  live  in  heaven  with  Thee.      Amen. 


CHILDREN'S  HYMNS.  243 


37. 
©  1bols  Xorfc, 

"Jesus  increased  in  wisdom  and  stature,  and  in  favour  with  God 
and  man." — St.  Luke  ii.  52. 

O  holy  Lord,  content  to  fill 
In  lowly  home  the  lowliest  place ; 
Thy  childhood's  law  a  mother's  will, 
Obedience  meek  Thy  brightest  grace. 

Lead  every  child  that  bears  Thy  Name 
To  walk  in  Thine  own  guileless  way, 
To  dread  the  touch  of  sin  and  shame, 
And  humbly,  like  Thyself,  obey. 

Oh  !  let  not  this  world's  scorching  glow 
Thy  Spirit's  quickening  dew  efface, 
Nor  blast  of  sin  too  rudely  blow, 
And  quench  the  trembling  flame  of  grace. 

Gather  Thy  lambs  within  Thine  arm, 
And  gently  in  Thy  bosom  bear ; 
Keep  them,  O  Lord,  from  hurt  and  harm, 
And  bid  them  rest  for  ever  there. 

So  shall  they,  waiting  here  below, 

Like  Thee  their  Lord,  a  little  span, 

In  wisdom  and  in  stature  grow, 

And  favour  with  both  God  and  maa       Amen. 


244  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

38. 

Hsbamefc  of  Jesus* 

(A  Recast  of  the  Hymn,  "Jesus,  and  shall  it  ever  be,"  by  Joseph 
Grigg,  a  boy  often  years  of  age,  published  in  the  "Gospel  A/aga- 
zine"  in  1744.) 
"lam  not  ashamed  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ." — Rom.  i.  16. 

Ashamed  of  Thee  !  O  dearest  Lord, 
I  marvel  how  such  wrong  can  be ; 
And  yet  how  oft  in  deed  and  word 
Have  I  been  found  ashamed  of  Thee  ! 

Ashamed  of  Thee  !  my  King,  my  God, 
Who  soughtest  me  with  wondrous  love, 
Whose  feet  the  way  of  sorrows  trod 
To  bring  me  to  Thy  home  above  ! 

Ashamed  of  Thee  ! — of  that  blest  Name 
Which  speaks  of  mercy  full  and  free  ! 
Nay,  Lord,  I  would  my  only  shame 
Might  be  to  be  ashamed  of  Thee. 

Ashamed  of  Thee  ! — whose  love  divine 
Was  not  ashamed  of  our  lost  race, 
But  even  this  cold  heart  of  mine 
Dost  make  Thy  home  and  dwelling-place. 

Ashamed  of  Thee  !  O  Lord,  I  pray 

This  cruel  wrong  no  more  may  be ; 

And  in  Thy  last  great  Advent-day, 

Oh  be  not  Thou  ashamed  of  me  !         Amen. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  245 


39. 
ffor  tbe  iparfsb, 

"  Turn  us  again,  O  God,  and  cause  Thy  face  to  shine  ;  and  we 
shall  be  saved" — Ps.  lxxx.  3. 

Bowed  low  in  supplication. 
We  come,  O  Lord,  to  Thee ; 

Thy  grace  alone  can  save  us ; 
To  Thee  alone  we  flee. 

We  come  for  this  our  Parish 

Thy  mercy  to  implore  \ 
On  church,  and  homes,  and  people, 

O  Lord,  Thy  blessing  pour. 

Blot  out  our  sins,  O  Father ! 

Forgive  the  guilty  past ; 
Loose  from  their  chains  the  captives 

Whom  Satan  holdeth  fast. 

Wake  up  the  slumbering  conscience 

To  listen  to  Thy  call ; 
The  weak  and  wavering  strengthen, 

And  raise  up  them  that  fall. 

Our  crying  sin  drive  from  us 

With  Thy  chastising  rod ; 
That  we  may  be  a  people 

Fearing  and  loving  God. 


246  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

Oh  !  be  Thy  house.  Lord,  hallowed, 
And  hallowed  be  Thy  day ; 

Let  sin-stained  souls  find  pardon, 
And  learn  to  love  and  pray. 

Oh  !  bless  and  keep  the  faithful, 
That  they  may  stand  secure  ; 

Unharmed  by  Satan's  malice, 
And  steadfast,  meek,  and  pure. 

With  heavenly  food  supported, 
Oh  !  be  they  firm  and  strong 

To  follow  all  things  holy, 

To  flee  from  all  things  wrong. 

Lord,  banish  strife  and  variance, 
Knit  sundered  hearts  in  one ; 

And  bind  us  all  together 
In  love  to  Thy  dear  Son. 

O  Father,  bless  our  Parish, 
That  all  may  grow  in  grace, 

And  love  Thee  daily  better, 

Until  we  see  Thy  face.         Amen. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  247 

40. 

XTbe  IResurrection  of  tbe  2Dea& 

The  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  first.''' — I  Thess.  iv.  16. 

Hope  of  hopes,  and  joy  of  joys  ! 
Golden  morn  of  endless  day  ! 
Can  we  cling  to  earth's  vain  toys, 
While  we  wait  thy  dawning  ray  ? 

Oh,  the  waking  of  the  dead  ! 
Who  can  sing  the  awful  bliss  ? 
Who  can  paint  the  splendour  dread  ? 
Who  can  dream  a  dream  like  this  ? 

Lo  !  the  Angel's  trumpet  rings, 
Thrilling  thro'  the  trembling  earth ; 
All  the  saints  that  sleep  it  brings 
To  their  new  and  glorious  birth  : 

Crowns  of  light  on  every  brow  ! 
Songs  of  bliss  on  every  tongue  ! 
Beauty  none  hath  dreamt  of  now  ! 
Glory  voice  hath  never  sung  ! 

Loved  ones  gaze  with  raptured  eye 
On  the  forms  that  round  them  spring : 
Changed  and  glorified  they  fly 
Thro'  the  clouds  to  meet  their  King. 


248  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

Death  is  sweet  to  souls  that  wait, 
Weary,  longing  for  their  rest ; 
'Tis  the  little  golden  gate 
Unto  Paradise  the  blest. 

Passing  sweet  is  Paradise, 
Where  the  spirits  wait  and  pray  : 
But  oh,  tenfold  joy  and  bliss 
Of  the  Resurrection  Day  ! 

Jesu,  lift  our  souls  on  high, 

While  we  watch  thro'  life's  dim  night, 

That  above  the  starry  sky 

We  may  rise  to  cloudless  light.         Amen. 


41. 

Qbc  IRame  of  Jesus* 

"Far  above  every  name  that  is  named,  not  only  in  this  world, 
but  also  in  that  which  is  to  come." — Eph.  i.  21. 

Jesus  !  Name  of  wondrous  love  ! 
Name  all  other  names  above  ! 
Unto  which  must  every  knee 
Bow  in  deep  humility. 

Jesus  !  Name  decreed  of  old  j 
To  the  maiden  mother  told, 
Kneeling  in  her  lowly  cell, 
By  the  Angel  Gabriel. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  249 

Jesus  !  Name  of  priceless  worth 
To  the  fallen  sons  of  earth 
For  the  promise  that  it  gave, — 
"Jesus  shall  His  people  save." 

Jesus  !  Name  of  mercy  mild 
Given  to  the  holy  Child, 
When  the  cup  of  human  woe 
First  He  tasted  here  below. 

Jesus  !  only  Name  that's  given 
Under  all  the  mighty  heaven, 
Whereby  man,  to  sin  enslaved, 
Bursts  his  fetters,  and  is  saved. 

Jesus  !  Name  of  wondrous  love  ! 
Human  Name  of  God  above  ! 
Pleading  only  this  we  flee, 
Helpless,  O  our  God,  to  Thee.         Amen. 


42. 

XTbe  marrow  May, 

u  A  arrow  is  the  way  which  leadelh  unto  life." — 
St.  Matt.  vii.  14. 

Lord,  Thy  children  guide  and  keep, 
As  with  feeble  steps  they  press 


250  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

On  the  pathway  rough  and  steep 
Through  this  weary  wilderness. 
Holy  Jesu,  day  by  day 
Lead  us  in  the  narrow  way. 

There  are  stony  ways  to  tread ; 

Give  the  strength  we  sorely  lack  : 

There  are  tangled  paths  to  thread  ; 

Light  us,  lest  we  miss  the  track. 
Holy  Jesu,  day  by  day 
Lead  us  in  the  narrow  way. 

There  are  sandy  wastes  that  lie 
Cold  and  sunless,  vast  and  drear, 
Where  the  feeble  faint  and  die ; 
Grant  us  grace  to  persevere. 
Holy  Jesu,  day  by  day 
Lead  us  in  the  narrow  way. 

There  are  soft  and  flowery  glades 

Decked  with  golden-fruited  trees  ; 

Sunny  slopes,  and  scented  shades  ; 

Keep  us,  Lord,  from  slothful  ease. 
Holy  Jesu,  day  by  day 
Lead  us  in  the  narrow  way. 

Upward  still  to  purer  heights, 
Onward  yet  to  scenes  more  blest, 
Calmer  regions,  clearer  lights, 
Till  we  reach  the  promised  rest. 

Holy  Jesu,  day  by  day 

Lead  us  in  the  narrow  way.         Amen. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  251 


43. 

Wearer  to  Qhce. 

{A- Recast  of  Mrs.  Adams'  well-known  Hymn.) 

"  And  It  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  ail  men 
unto  Me." — St.  John  xii.  32. 

Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  !     Hear  Thou  my  prayer. 
E'en  though  a  heavy  cross  fainting  I  bear, 

Still  all  my  prayer  shall  be, 
Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  ;  nearer  to  Thee  ! 

If,  where  they  led  my  Lord,  I  too  am  borne, 
Planting  my  steps  in  His,  weary  and  worn, 

Oh,  may  they  carry  me 
Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  j  nearer  to  Thee  ! 

If  Thou  the  cup  of  pain  givest  to  drink, 

Let  not  my  trembling  lip  from  the  draught  shrink ; 

So  by  my  woes  to  be 
Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  ;  nearer  to  Thee  ! 

Though  the  great  battle  rage  hotly  around, 
Still  where  my  Captain  fights  let  me  be  found  ; 

Through  toils  and  strife  to  be 
Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  ;  nearer  to  Thee  ! 


252  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

When,  my  course  finished,  I  breathe  my  last  breath, 
Ent'ring  the  shadowy  valley  of  death, 

There  too  I  still  shall  be 
Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee ;  nearer  to  Thee. 

And  when  Thou,   Lord,   once   more  glorious   shalt 

come, 
Oh  for  a  dwelling-place  in  Thy  bright  home  ! 

Through  all  eternity 
Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  ;  nearer  to  Thee  !       Amen. 


44. 

"And  when  I  saw  Him,  I  fell  at  His  Feel  as  dead."— Rev.  i.  17. 

0  God,  enshrined  in  dazzling  light 
Above  the  highest  sphere, 

My  soul  is  filled  with  awe  to  feel 
That  Thou  art  present  here. 

Thine  Eye  is  as  a  lamp  of  fire, 
And  in  its  searching  flame 

1  see  myself,  all  stained  with  sin, 

And  bow  my  head  with  shame. 

But,  O  my  God,  Thy  Son  hath  died  ! 

And  from  the  dust  I  rise, 
And  from  myself  and  all  my  sin 

To  Thee  I  lift  mine  eyes. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  253 

My  sins  are  dark,  but  over  all 

Thy  burning  love  I  see ; 
And  all  my  soul  is  full  of  praise, 

And  worships  only  Thee.         Amen. 


45. 

Jesus  at  tbe  Door* 

"  Behold,  I  stand  at  the  door  and  knock."— Rev.  iii.  20. 

O  Jesu,  Thou  art  standing 
Outside  the  fast-closed  door, 

In  lowly  patience  waiting 
To  pass  the  threshold  o'er. 

Shame  on  us,  Christian  brothers, 
His  name  and  sign  who  bear, 

Oh,  shame,  thrice  shame,  upon  us, 
To  keep  Him  standing  there  ! 

O  Jesu,  Thou  art  knocking  ; 

And  lo  !  that  Hand  is  scarred, 
And  thorns  Thy  brow  encircle, 

And  tears  Thy  Face  have  marred. 

O  love  that  passeth  knowledge 

So  patiently  to  wait ! 
O  sin  that  hath  no  equal 

So  fast  to  bar  the  gate ! 


254  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

O  Jesu,  Thou  art  pleading 
In  accents  meek  and  low — 

'  I  died  for  you,  My  children, 
And  will  ye  treat  Me  so  ? ' 

O  Lord,  with  shame  and  sorrow 
We  open  now  the  door  : 

Dear  Saviour,  enter,  enter, 

And  leave  us  nevermore.         Amen. 


46. 

Jesus  Seeing  our  TTofls* 

He  saw  them  toiling  in  rowing."  — St.  Mark  vi.  48. 

O  Lord,  we  toil  with  weary  oar 

Across  life's  restless  sea : 
When  shall  we  reach  the  unseen  shore 

And  be  at  rest  with  Thee  ? 

The  night  is  dark ;  the  waves  run  high ; 

We  see  no  dawning  ray ; 
We  toil  and  strive  in  vain  ;  ah  !  why 

Art  Thou  so  far  away  ? 

O  toiler,  cease  thy  faithless  moan : 

For,  on  the  sacred  hill, 
Withdrawn  from  earth,  unseen,  alone, 

He  sees  thee  toiling  still. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  255 

What  matter  that  the  storm-winds  blow, 
And  waves  their  loud  voice  raise  ? 

Nor  wind  nor  wave  can  work  thee  woe 
While  Jesus  sees  and  prays. 

O  Jesu,  on  Thy  strong  arm  stayed, 

We  brave  life's  restless  sea ; 
And,  tho'  we  sometime  be  afraid, 

We  yet  will  trust  in  Thee !         Amen. 

47. 

XTbe  ©rawing  of  tbe  Cross. 

"  /,  if  I  be  lifted  upfront  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men  unto  Me."— 
St.  John  xii.  32. 

O  my  Saviour,  lifted 

From  the  earth  for  me, 
Draw  me,  in  Thy  mercy, 

Nearer  unto  Thee. 

Speed  these  lagging  footsteps, 

Melt  this  heart  of  ice, 
As  I  scan  the  marvels 

Of  Thy  Sacrifice. 

Lift  my  earth-bound  longings, 

Fix  them,  Lord,  above ; 
Draw  me  with  the  magnet 

Of  Thy  mighty  love. 


256  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

Lord,  Thine  Arms  are  stretching 

Ever  far  and  wide, 
To  enfold  Thy  children 

To  Thy  loving  Side. 

And  I  come,  O  Jesus  : — 

Dare  I  turn  away  ? 
No  !  Thy  love  hath  conquered, 

And  I  come  to-day  : 

Bringing  all  my  burdens, 

Sorrow,  sin,  and  care, 
At  Thy  Feet  I  lay  them, 

And  I  leave  them  there.         Amen. 

48. 

tools  Scripture* 

"  The  commandment  is  a  lamp,  and  the  law  is  light. " — 
Prov.  vi.  23. 

O  Word  of  God  Incarnate, 
O  Wisdom  from  on  high, 

O  Truth  unchanged,  unchanging, 
O  Light  of  our  dark  sky  ; 

We  praise  Thee  for  the  radiance 
That  from  the  hallowed  page, 

A  lantern  to  our  footsteps, 
Shines  on  from  age  to  age. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  257 

The  Church  from  her  dear  Master 

Received  the  gift  divine, 
And  still  that  light  she  lifteth 

O'er  all  the  earth  to  shine. 

It  is  the  golden  casket 

Where  gems  of  truth  are  stored ; 
It  is  the  heaven-drawn  picture 

Of  Christ  the  living  Word. 

It  floateth  like  a  banner 

Before  God's  host  unfurled ; 
It  shineth  like  a  beacon 

Above  the  darkling  world. 

It  is  the  chart  and  compass, 

That  o'er  life's  surging  sea, 
'Mid  mists  and  rocks  and  quicksands, 

Still  guides,  O  Christ,  to  Thee. 

Oh  !  make  Thy  Church,  dear  Saviour, 

A  lamp  of  purest  gold, 
To  bear  before  the  nations 

Thy  true  light,  as  of  old. 

Oh  !  teach  Thy  wandering  pilgrims 

By  this  their  path  to  trace, 
Till,  clouds  and  darkness  ended, 

They  see  Thee  face  to  face.         Amen. 


258  GENERAL  HYMNS. 


49. 
public  Morsbip, 

"  One  day  in  Thy  courts  is  better  than  a  thousand. 
Ps.  lxxxiv.  io. 

Oh,  happy  feet  that  tread 
Thine  earthly  courts,  O  Lord  ! 
There  heavenly  light  is  shed  ; 
There  Thine  own  peace  is  poured. 

Oh,  happy  knees  that  press 
Thy  Temple's  lowly  floor, 
While  contrite  hearts  confess, 
And  pardoning  grace  implore  ! 

Oh,  happy  ears  that  hear 
With  glad  and  simple  faith 
The  message  ringing  clear — 
"  Thy  sins  God  pardoneth  "  ! 

Oh,  happy  tongues  that  sing 
With  burning  praise  on  fire, 
Here  faintly  echoing 
The  bright  celestial  choir ! 

Oh,  happy  souls  that  rise 
In  childlike  trust  to  Thee 
With  hallowed  sacrifice 
Of  prayer  and  litany  ! 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  259 

Oh,  happy  eyes  that  light 
With  brave  and  holy  pride 
The  one  faith  to  recite, 
For  which  the  martyrs  died  ! 

Oh,  happier  still  who  low 
At  Thy  blest  banquet  kneel, 
With  trembling  rapture  glow, 
And  there  Thy  Presence  feel ! 

But  happiest  happiest  far 

To  Heav'n's  fair  courts  to  soar, 

And,  where  all  glories  are, 

To  praise  Thee  evermore  !         Amen. 


50. 
Ubc  1Re\v  Jerusalem* 

The  kingdom  of  God  is  within  you." — St.  Luke  xvii.  21 

The  City  paved  with  gold, 

Bright  with  each  dazzling  gem  ! 

When  shall  our  eyes  behold 

The  new  Jerusalem  ? 
Yet  lo  !  e'en  now  in  viewless  might 
Uprise  the  walls  of  living  light ! 

The  kingdom  of  the  Lord 
It  cometh  not  with  show  : 


26o  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

Nor  throne,  nor  crown,  nor  sword, 

Proclaim  its  might  below. 
Though  dimly  scanned  through  mists  of  sin,' 
The  Lord's  true  kingdom  is  within  ! 

The  gates  of  pearl  are  there 

In  penitential  tears  : 

Bright  as  a  jewel  rare 

Each  saintly  grace  appears  : 
We  track  the  path  saints  trod  of  old, 
And  lo  !  the  pavement  is  of  gold  ! 

The  living  waters  flow 

That  fainting  souls  may  drink  j 

The  mystic  fruit-trees  grow 

Along  the  river's  brink  : 
We  taste  e'en  now  the  waters  sweet, 
And  of  the  Tree  of  Life  we  eat. 

Not  homeless  wanderers  here 

Our  exile  songs  we  sing ; 

Thou  art  our  home  most  dear, 

Thou  city  of  our  King  ! 
Thy  future  bliss  we  cannot  tell, 
Content  in  thee  on  earth  we  dwell. 

Build,  Lord,  the  mystic  walls  ! 
Throw  wide  the  unseen  gates  ! 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  261 

Fill  all  the  golden  halls, 

While  yet  Thy  triumph  waits  ! 
Make  glad  Thy  Church  with  light  and  love, 
Till  glorified  it  shines  above  !         Amen. 

51. 

ffor  tbe  Country 

11  Lor  J,  Thou  hast  been  favourable  unto  Thy  land ." — Ps.  lxxxv.  1. 

To  Thee  our  God  we  fly 

For  mercy  and  for  grace ; 

Oh  !  hear  our  lowly  cry, 

And  hide  not  Thou  Thy  face. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 

Arise,  O  Lord  of  Hosts  ! 

Be  jealous  for  Thy  Name, 

And  drive  from  out  our  coasts 

The  sins  that  put  to  shame. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 

Thy  best  gifts  from  on  high 

In  rich  abundance  pour, 

That  we  may  magnify 

And  praise  Thee  more  and  more. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 


262  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

The  powers  ordained  by  Thee 
With  heavenly  wisdom  bless, 
May  they  Thy  servants  be, 
And  rule  in  righteousness. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 

The  Church  of  Thy  dear  Son 
Inflame  with  love's  pure  fire, 
Bind  her  once  more  in  one, 
And  life  and  truth  inspire. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 

The  pastors  of  Thy  fold 
With  grace  and  power  endue, 
That  faithful,  pure,  and  bold, 
They  may  be  pastors  true. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 

Oh  !  let  us  love  Thy  house, 

And  sanctify  Thy  day, 

Bring  unto  Thee  our  vows 

And  loyal  homage  pay. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  263 

Give  peace,  Lord,  in  our  time  ; 

Oh  !  let  no  foe  draw  nigh, 

Nor  lawless  deed  of  crime 

Insult  Thy  Majesty. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland. 

Though  vile  and  worthless,  still 

Thy  people,  Lord,  are  we ; 

And  for  our  God  we  will 

None  other  have  but  Thee. 
O  Lord,  stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand, 
And  guard  and  bless  our  Fatherland.      Amen. 


52. 
"3t  is  J." 

'//  is  I ;  be  not  afraid" — St.  John  vi.  20. 

When  the  dark  waves  round  us  roll, 
And  we  look  in  vain  for  aid, 
Speak,  Lord,  to  the  trembling  soul,  — 
"  It  is  I ;  be  not  afraid." 

When  we  dimly  trace  Thy  form 
In  mysterious  clouds  arrayed, 
Be  the  echo  of  the  storm, — 
"It  is  I;  be  not  afraid." 


264  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

When  our  brightest  hopes  depart, 
When  our  fairest  visions  fade, 
Whisper  to  the  fainting  heart, — 
"  It  is  I ;  be  not  afraid." 

When  we  weep  beside  the  bier 
Where  some  weH-loved  form  is  laid, 
Oh  !  may  then  the  mourner  hear, — 
"  It  is  I ;  be  not  afraid." 

When  with  wearing  hopeless  pain 
Sinks  the  spirit  sore  dismayed, 
Breathe  Thou  then  the  comfort  strain, — 
"  It  is  I ;  be  not  afraid." 

When  we  feel  the  end  is  near, 
Passing  into  death's  dark  shade, 
May  the  voice  be  strong  and  clear, — 
"  It  is  I ;  be  not  afraid."         Amen. 

53. 

XTbe  Oofcbeafc  of  3esus* 

(See  the  beautiful  tune  "  Cross  and  Crown  "  written  for  this 
Hymn.     "  Church  Hymns.'''') 

"  The  Word  was  God."— St.  John  i.  i. 

Who  is  this,  so  weak  and  helpless, 
Child  of  lowly  Hebrew  maid, 

Rudely  in  a  stable  sheltered, 
Coldly  in  a  manger  laid  ? 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  265 

'Tis  the  Lord  of  all  creation, 

Who  this  wondrous  path  hath  trod ; 

He  is  God  from  everlasting, 
And  to  everlasting  God. 

Who  is  this — a  Man  of  Sorrows, 

Walking  sadly  life's  hard  way, 
Homeless,  weary,  sighing,  weeping 

Over  sin  and  Satan's  sway  ? 

'Tis  our  God,  our  glorious  Saviour, 

Who  above  the  starry  sky 
Now  for  us  a  place  prepareth, 

Where  no  tear  can  dim  the  eye. 

Who  is  this — behold  Him  shedding 
Drops  of  Blood  upon  the  ground  ? 

Who  is  this — despised,  rejected, 
Mocked,  insulted,  beaten,  bound? 

Tis  our  God,  who  gifts  and  graces 
On  His  Church  now  poureth  down  • 

Who  shall  smite  in  holy  vengeance 
All  His  foes  beneath  His  throne. 

Who  is  this  that  hangeth  dying, 

While  the  rude  world  scoffs  and  scorns  ; 

Numbered  with  the  malefactors, 

Torn  with  nails,  and  crowned  with  thorns  ? 


266  GENERAL  HYMNS. 

Tis  the  God  who  ever  liveth 
'Mid  the  shining  ones  on  high, 

In  the  glorious  golden  city 

Reigning  everlastingly !         Amen. 


54. 
Uhc  ^Transfiguration* 

"He  was  transfigured  before  them" — St.  Matt.  xvii.  2. 

With  trembling  awe  the  chosen  three 

The  holy  mount  ascended, 
Where,  rapt  in  blissful  ecstacy, 

They  saw  the  vision  splendid, — 
Their  Lord  arrayed  in  living  light, 
And  on  His  left  hand  and  His  right 

By  glorious  saints  attended. 

Oh,  vision  bright,  too  bright  to  tell, 
The  joys  of  heaven  unveiling  ! 

How  precious  on  those  hearts  it  fell 
When  earthly  hopes  were  failing, 

When,  saints  no  more  on  either  side, 

Between  the  thieves  the  Saviour  died, 
'Mid  hate  and  scorn  and  railing  ! 

Grant  us,  dear  Lord,  some  vision  brief 
Of  future  triumph  telling, 


GENERAL  HYMNS.  267 

Gilding  with  hope  our  night  of  grief, 

Our  clouds  of  fear  dispelling. 
If  the  dim  foretaste  was  so  bright, 
Oh,  what  shall  be  the  dazzling  light 

Of  Thy  eternal  dwelling  !         Amen. 


INDEX   TO   HYMNS. 


HYMN 

i.  Sunday.  page 

This  day,  at  Thy  creating  word      ,         .        ,         .195 

2.  Daily  Prayer. 

O  Lord,  it  is  a  blessed  thing 196 

3.  Monday. 

Yesterday  with  worship  blest  ....     197 

4.  Thursday. 

Ascended  Lord,  accept  our  praise  .         .        .         .198 

5.  Friday. 

O  Jesu,  crucified  for  man 199 

6.  Spring. 

For  all  Thy  love  and  goodness,  so  bountiful  and  free     200 

7.  Summer. 

Summer  suns  are  glowing 202 

8.  Autumn. 

The  year  is  swiftly  waning 204 

9.  Winter. 

Winter  reigneth  o'er  the  land  ....     205 

10.  Epiphany. 

O  one  with  God  the  Father 206 

11.  Holy  Week. 

Lord  Jesu,  when  we  stand  afar        ....     207 

12.  Easter. 

On  wings  of  living  light 208 


INDEX  TO  HYMNS. 


269 


HYMN 

13.  Whitsuntide. 

O  heavenly  Fount  of  light  and  love 

14.  The  Purification. 

Rejoice,  ye  sons  of  men  ! 

15.  The  Annunciation. 

Great  Gabriel  sped  on  wings  of  light 

16.  St.  Peter. 

"  Thou  art  the  Christ,  O  Lord  "      . 

17.  St.  Matthew. 

Behold,  the  Master  passeth  by  ! 

18.  St.  Luke, 

Oh,  blest  was  he,  whose  earlier  skill 


[9.  Saints'  Days. 

For  all  the  Saints  who  from  their  labours  rest 


PAGE 

210 


211 
213 
214 

215 
217 
218 


20.  Holy  Communion. 

Great  and  Glorious  Father,  humbly  we  adore  Thee     220 

21.  Holy  Baptism. 

Oh,  sight  for  Angels  to  adore  ....     222 

22.  Holy  Baptism. 

O'er  the  shoreless  waste  of  waters  . 


23.  Confirmation. 

Before  Thine  awful  presence,  Lord 

24.  In  Time  of  War. 

O  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  earth  is  Thine 

25.  Offertory. 

We  give  Thee  but  Thine  own 

26.  Home  Missions. 

Soldiers  of  the  Cross,  arise  !    . 

27.  Hospitals. 

O  Thou  through  suffering  perfect  made 


223 
225 
226 
227 
228 
229 


270 


INDEX  TO  HYMNS. 


28. 
29. 
30. 
3i- 
32. 
33- 
34- 
35- 
36. 
37. 
38. 
39- 
40. 
41. 
42. 


Church  Guilds  and  Associations 
Upon  the  holy  Mount  they  stood 

Associations  of  Women. 
O  daughters  blest  of  Galilee    . 

Processional. 

Bound  in  holy  bonds  of  love   . 

Morning  Hymn. 

God  of  mercy  and  of  love 

Evening  Hymn. 

Now  the  sun  has  passed  away 

Behold  a  Little  Child. 
Behold  a  little  Child       . 

Come,  Praise  your  Lord  and  Saviou 
Come,  praise  your  Lord  and  Saviour 

The  Love  of  Jesus. 

It  is  a  thing  most  wonderful    . 

For  a  School  Festival. 

Lord,  this  day  Thy  children  meet  . 

O  Holy  Lord. 

O  holy  Lord,  content  to  fill    . 


Ashamed  of  Jesus. 

Ashamed  of  Thee  !  O  dearest  Lord 

For  the  Parish. 

Bowed  low  in  supplication 

The  Resurrection  of  the  Dead. 
Hope  of  hopes,  and  joy  of  joys 

The  Name  of  Jesus. 

Jesus  !  Name  of  wondrous  love  !     . 

The  Narrow  Way. 

Lord,  Thy  children  guide  and  keep 


INDEX  TO  HYMNS. 


271 


HYMN 

43.  Nearer  to  Thee.  page 

Nearer,  O  God,  to  Thee  !     Hear  Thou  my  prayer     251 

44.  O  God,  Enshrined. 

O  God,  enshrined  in  dazzling  light  .        .         .252 

45.  Jesus  at  the  Door. 

O  Jesu,  Thou  art  standing 253 

46.  Jesus  Seeing  our  Toils. 

O  Lord,  we  toil  with  weary  oar       ....     254 

47.  The  Drawing  of  the  Cross. 

O  my  Saviour,  lifted 255 

48.  Holy  Scripture. 

O  Word  of  God  Incarnate 256 

49.  Public  Worship. 

Oh,  happy  feet  that  tread 258 

50.  The  New  Jerusalem. 

The  City  paved  with  gold 259 

51.  For  the  Country. 

To  Thee  our  God  we  fly 261 

52.  "It  is  I." 

When  the  dark  waves  round  us  roll        .         .        .     263 

53.  The  Godhead  of  Jesus. 

Who  is  this,  so  weak  and  helpless  .  .        .     264 

54.  The  Transfiguration. 

With  trembling  awe  the  chosen  three      .         .        .     266 


